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■ 
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Qass TPWf 
Book.Jl^ B5 



MEMOTRS OF TFTE LIFE OF THE RTGHT 
I HONORABLE RICHARD BRINSLEF SHERI- 
DAN". By Thomas Moore. Two volumes in 
one. 12mo., cloth, gold and black, with stool 
portrait. $1.50. 

TCHES OF THE HUSH BAR. By the 
Right Honorable Richard Lalor Shiel. M. P., 
with Memoir and Notes by R. Shelton, Mack- 
enzie, D. 0. L. 12mo., cloth, gold and black, 
with stool portrait. $1.50. 

THE LTFE OF THE RTGHT HONORABLE 

JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN, late Master of the 

Rolls in Ireland. By his son. William Henry 

Curran, with additions and notes by R. Shelton 

nzie, D. 0. L. 12mo., cloth, gold and 

k, with steel portrait. SI. 50. 

PERSONA^ SKETCHES OF HIS OWN 
h Barrington, Judge of 
the High Cor; of Admiralityin Ireland, etc., 
etc. 12m o., cloth, gold and black, with illustra- 
tions by Darley. Si .50. 

'OS and '48. THE MODERN REVOLUTION- 
ARY HISTORY AND LITERATURE OF IRE- 
LAND. By John Savage! Fourth Edition, 
w th an Appendqx and Index. 12mo., cloth, 
gold and black, i 

BITS OF BLARNEY. Edited by R. Shelton 
Mackenzie D. C. !>.. Editor of Shiel's Sketches 
of the Irish Bar, etc. 12mo., cloth, gold and 
black. Si. 50. 



rULctu^c*-, c^^^r ot~ 



/VOJ ' 



»« — 



Bits of Blarney. 




EDITED BY 

R.SHELTON MACKENZIE, D.C.L. 



SHIELS' SKETCHES OF THE IRISH BAR," Etc. 



CHICAGO: 
Belford, Clarke & Co. 

. ST. LOUIS: 
Belford & Clarke Publishing Co. 

MPCCCLXXXII. 



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JyTwafer 
A|90 ' 




TO MY PUBLISHER. 

M y Dear Sir : — The deified heroes of the Norse mythology 
are believed to spend their afternoons in drinking something 
stronger than lemonade out of their 'enemies' skulls, and some 
ill-natured persons seizing on the idea, have declared that pub- 
lishers use the skulls of their authors as drinking-cups, in the 
same manner. For my own part, I discredit the assertion — as 
far as my relations with yourself enable me to judge ; 1 suspect 
that the time has fi-one by when Napoleon's health was drank as 
" a friend of literature," because he had shot a bookseller ; and 
I give you unlimited permission to use my skull, in the Norse 
fashion, provideu that you wait until " in death I shall calm re- 
cline," when I shall have no further occasion for it. In such 
case, the least you can do will be to drink my memory, " in sol- 
emn silence" — the beverage being whiskey-punch, as a delicate 

compliment to my country. 

(ill) 



IV PREFACE. 

Seriously speaking (or writing), however, I take leave to 
dedicate this volume to you, with the solemn assurance that my 
doing so must not be taken as — a Bit of Blarney. 

The book is Irish — to all intents and purposes, and is put 
forth witn the least possible pretence. It contains Legends — 
familiar to me in my youth ; Stories, which, more or less, are 
literally " founded upon tacts :" recollections of Eccentric Char- 
acters, whose peculiarities it would have been difficult to exag- 
gerate ; — and Sketches of the two great Irish leaders of the 
last and present century, Grattan, wno won National Indepen- 
dence for Ireland, and O'Connell, who obtained Emancipation 
for the great majority of his countrymen. The Sketch of the 
great Agitator has extended almost to a biography — but I knew 
the man well, and write of him on that knowledge. In this vol- 
ume he is certainly entitled to a niche, having been, the greatest 
professor of " Blarney" these later days nave seen or heard. 
Yours faithfully, 

R. S helton Mackenzie 



CONTENTS 



ILeflntTrs* 



FAoa 
BLAENEY CASTLE 9 

Legend of thk Lake --•.----•16 
Legend of Coeeig-na-oat - - - - 21 

Legend of the Eock Close - - - • -27 

CON O'KEEFE AND THE GOLDEN CUP ... - 85 

LEGENDS OF FINN MAC COUL 48 

Finn and the Fish ---------- 68 

The Beeakb of Ballynascorney - - - Gi 

Finn Mao Coul's Finger-Stone -.---- 64 



Krisi) stories. 

THE PETEIFEED PIPES— 

1. "Who the Piper was ---------74 

2. What the Pipee did --.-•--- 85 
8. How the Piper got on ---••--• 91 

4. How the Piper became a Pet«ifactiow 103 

5. How it all ended jj§--------121 

THE GEEALDINE 143 

(v) 






VI CONTENTS. 

CAPTAIN ROCK— page 

1. The Wake - 151 

2. The Leadeb 165 

8. The Course of Trite Love ....... 172 

4. Chxtrchtown Barracks --.-•-. .181 

5. The Attaok -n Rossjiore .... ... 191 

6. The Trial 201 

A NIGHT WITH THE WHITEBOYS 228 

BUCK ENGLISH .... - - - - - 281 



ISccmtrfc <&i)avatUvu~ 

1 HE BAKU O'KELLS 25* 

FATHER PROUT 2TJ 

FATHER PROUTS SERMON 283 

IRISH DANCING MASTERS .--.--. 291 

CHARLEY CROFTS ..... . - ... 35 



HENRY GRATTAN .... .... 823 

DANIEL OCONNELL .... ..... 849 



BITS OF BLARNEY, 



How many have heard of 4i Blarney/' and now 
few know how and why this appropriate -errr Las 
originated! How could they, indeed, unless they 
had made a pilgrimage to the Castle, as I did, 
in order to manoeuvre Tim Cronin into a narration 
of its legend ? — They may go to Blaruey, whenever 
they please, out the genius loci has vanished. Tim 
Cronin has been gathered to his fathers. By no 
lingering or vulgar disease did he perish ; he 
died of a sudden. 

Scarcely any part of Ireland has attained more 
celebrity than the far-famed village of Blarney, in 
the county, and near the city of Cork. At Blarney 
may be seen the mysterious talisman, which has the 
extraordinary power of conferring remarkable gifts 
of persuasion on the lips which, with due reverence 
and proper faith in its virtues, invoke the hidden 
genii of The Stone, to yield them its inspiration. 
The ceremony is brief: — only a kiss on the flinty 
rock, and the kisser is instantly endowed with the 
1* 



10 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

happy faculty of flattering the fair sex ad libitum^ 
without their once suspecting that it can be flattery. 
On the masculine gender it is not less effective. 
Altogether, it enables the kisser, like History, 

" To lie like truth, and still most truly lie " 

Immortal poesie has already celebrated the local- 
\ij of Blarney. The far-famed chanson, written by 
Richard Alfred Milliken,* and called " The Groves 
of Blarney," has been heard or read by every 
one: — in these later days the polyglot edition, by 
him who has assumed the name of Father Prout, 
is well known to the public. There is an inter- 
polated verse, which may be adopted (as it some- 
times is) into the original chanson, on account of 
the earnestness with which it declares that 

" TLe stone this is, whoever kisses, 
He never misses to grow eloquent : 
Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, 
Or become a member of Parliament." 

Blarney Castle is surrounded by the Groves 

* In Lockhart's Life of Scott, this renowned Song is attrib- 
ated to " the poetical Dean of Cork" (Dr. Burrowes, who wrote 
" The Night before Larry was stretched"), but really was written 
by Milliken, a poetical lawyer of whom Maguire says (O'Doherty 
Papers, vol. ii., p. 181) that not even Christopher North him- 
self— 

" Be he tipsy or sober, 

Was not more thai his match, in wine, wisdom, or wit" 



bLARNEY CASTLE. 11 

mentioned in the song. It stands four miles to 
the northwest of "the beautiful city called Cork," 
and, of conrse, in the fox-huuting district of Mus- 
kerrj. All that can now be seen are the remains 
of an antique castellated pile, to the east of which 
was rather incongruously attached, a century ago, a 
large mansion of modern architecture. 

The Castle stands on the north side of a precip- 
itous ridge of limestone rock, rising from a deep 
valley, and its base is washed by a small and beau- 
tifully clear river called the Aw-martin. A large, 
square, and massive tower — a sort of Keep, — is all 
that remains of the original fortress. The top of 
this building is surrounded with a parapet, breast- 
high, and on the very summit is the famous Stone 
which is said to possess the power, alreadj men- 
tioned, of conferring on every gentleman who 
kisses it the peculiar property of telling any thing, 
in the way of praise (commonly called flattery), 
with unblushing cheek and " forehead unabashed." 
A? the fair sex have to receive, rather than bestow 
compliments, the oscular homage to the Stone con- 
veys no power to them. From the virtues which it 
communicates to the masculine pilgrims, we have 
the well-known term blarney and blarney -stone. 

The real Stone is in such a dangerous positiom 
from its elevation, that it is rarely kissed, except by 
very adventurous pilgrims of the Tom Sheridan 
class, who will do the thing, and not be content 



12 bits of Blarney. 

with saying they have done it! The stone which 
officiates as its deputy, is one which was loosened 
by a shot from the cannon of Oliver Cromwell's 
troops, who were encamped on the hill behind the 
Castle. This stone is secured in its place by iron 
stanchions, and it is this that the visitors kiss, as 
aforesaid, and by mistake. The Song, it may be 
remembered, speaks of the Cromwellian bombard- 
ment of the Castle : 

" 'Tis Lady Jeffreys that owns this station, 

Like Alexander, or like Helen, fair. 
There's no commander throughout the nation 

In emulation can with her compare : 
Such walls surround her, that no nine-pounder 

Could ever plunder her place of strength, 
Till Oliver Cromwell he did her pummel, 

And made a breach in her battlement." 

Between Blarney Castle and the hill whereon 
Cromwell's troops bivouacked, is a sweet vale called 
the Rock Close. This is a charming spot, whereon 
(or legends lie) the little elves of fairy-land once 
loved to assemble in midnight revelry. At one 
end of this vale is* a lake of unfathomable depth, 
and Superstition delights to relate stories of its 
wonders. . 

When Sir Walter Scott Avas in Ireland, he visited 
Blarney, accompanied by Anne Scott, Miss Edge- 
worth, and Mr. Lockhart. A few days after he 



THE ROCK CLOSE. IS 

was there, it was my fortune to tread in his steps to 
the same classic shrine. 

The barefooted and talkative guide who would 
accompany me over the Castle, thus described " the 
Ariosto of the North," and his companions : — " A 
tall, bulky man, who halted a great deal, came here, 
with his daughter and a very small lady, and a 
dash of a gentleman, with a bright keen eye that 
looked here, and there, and everywhere in a 
minute. They thrust themselves, ransacking, into 
every nook and cranny that a rat would not go 
through, scarcely. When the lams gentleman 
came to the top of the Castle, wasn't he delighted, 
and didn't he take all the country down upon 
paper with a pencil, while one of us sang 'The 
Groves of Blarney.' He made us sing it again, 
and gave me a crown-piece, and said that he'd 
converse a poem on the Castle, himself, may -be !" 

AVbile I am thus gossiping, I am neglecting Tim 
Cronin, "the b3st story-teller" (to use his own 
words) "within the whole length, and breadth, and 
cubic mensuration of the Island." 

After my visit to Blarney Castle, I met this 
worthy. I had struck from the common path into 
that which led through the Kock Close. This 
valley is divided into several fields, all of which 
are extremely fertile, except that immediately 
washed by the waters of the lake. It was now 
far in the summer; and, although the mowers 



14 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

had to cut down the rich grass of the other fields, 
there was scarcely a blade upon this. It was as 
smooth, green, and close-shaven as the trim turf 
before a cottage omee. While I was remarking 
this, I was startled by a sudden touch upon the 
shoulder, and, turning round, I found myself vis-a- 
vis with a Herculean-built fellow, who doffed his 
hat, with a sort of rude courtesy, made an attempt 
at a bow, and, before I could say a word, struck 
into conversation. 

" Wondering at this meadow being so bare, I 
warrant you, sir?" 

I confessed that it had surprised me. 

"Didn't know the why nor the wherefore of it, 
may-be? It's Tim Cronin — and that's myself — 
that can tell you all about it, before you have time 
to get fat." 

I ventured to exhibit my ignorance, by asking 
who Tim Cronin might be ? 

" Faith, sir, you may know a great deal of Latin 
and Greek — and 'tis easy to see that the College 
mark is upon you — but you know little of real lit- 
erature in old Ireland, if you don't know me. Not 
know Cronin, the renowned Philomath, that bothered 
the Provost of old Trinity in Algebra — from the 
Saxon aZ, noble, and the Arabic Geber, the philoso- 
pher? Never once heard, perhaps, of the great 
Cronin that does all the problems and answers, for 
the Lady's Diary, in mathematics — from the Greek 



THE HOCK CLOSE. 15 

mctthema, instruction ? Nothing like getting at the 
roots of "words — the unde derivatur V 

Even at the hazard of appearing as an ignoramus 
in the eyes of Mr. Cronin, I was fain to admit that 
I had not previously heard of his name and erudi- 
tion. I ventured to intimate, as a sort of half- 
apology, that I was a stranger in that part of the 
country. 

" Strange enough, I'll be bound," said he, with a 
shrug of the shoulders. "Know, then, that I am 
that same Tim Cronin, — 'our ingenious correspond- 
ent,' as the Mathematical Journal calls me, when it 
refuses one of my articles, 'from want of space,' — ■ 
bad luck to 'em, as if they could not push out some- 
thing else to make room for me. Curious, sir, not 
to have heard of me, that keeps one of the finest 
academies, under a hedge, in the Province of Mini- 
ster ! Just sit down on the bank here, and I'll soon 
enlighten you so, about that good-looking lake be- 
fore your two eyes, that I'll be bound you won't 
forget me in a hurry." 

Complying with the request of this august per- 
sonage, I had the satisfaction of listening to his 
legend, thus; 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

Once upon a time, and there was no lake here, at 
all at all. In the middle of the place where that 
lake is, there stood a large castle, and in it dwelt an 
imbaptized giant — it was before blessed Saint Patrick 
came into the country, Heaven rest his soul — and 
this giant had martial rule over all the country, far 
and near. 

In his time, the Aw-martin, nor any other river, 
did not flow near us. Indeed, though there was 
plenty of wine in the Castle, there was a great want 
of water. This was very inconvenient for the ladies 
— the fellow had as many wives as a Turk — because 
they were always wanting to wash their clothes, and 
their pretty faces, and their white hands, and their 
well-shaped bodies ; and, more than that, they could 
not make themselves a raking cup of tea, by any 
means, for the want of good soft water. So, one and 
all, they sent a petition to the giant, praying that he 
wonld have the kindness to procure them a well of 
water. When lie read it, he made no more ado but 
whipped off through the air — just like a bird of 
Paradise — to his old aunt, who was a fairy, and had 
foretold that, some day or other, water would be the 

(16) 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 17 

death of him. Perhaps that was the reason that he 
always took his liquor neat. 

Well, he told her what he had come about, and 
after a world of entreaty — for she had a foreboding 
that something unfortunate would come of it — the 
old fairy put a little bottle into his hands. "Take 
this," said she, " and drill a hole in the rock at the 
foot of the Castle barbican, where the sun throws 
his latest ray before he sinks into the west. Make 
a stone-cover for the top of it — one that will fit it 
exactly. Then pour the water from this bottle into 
that hole in the rock, and there will be a well of 
pure water, for th • elf and you r Vn m i" 1 ^ 

But, when no one is 
this well, be sure 

always left upoi • juid 

to overflow, ui 

He gave her a thousand thanks, and home he 
went. The first thing he did was to drill a hole in 
the rock (and he did not find that a very easy job), 
then to fit it with an air-tight stone-cover, and, lastly, 
to pour in the water out of the little bottle. 

Sure enough, there immediately bubbled up an 
abundance of bright, clear, and sparkling water. 
The giant then assembled all his family, and told 
them how the stone-cover must always be kept over 
the well when they were not using it. And then his 
wives agreed that, as they had been so anxious to 
get this water, one of them, turn about, should sit 



IS HITS OF BLARNEY. 

bv the well, day and night, and see that no one left 
it uncovered. They were eontent to submit to this 
trouble, rather than run the risk of losing the water. 

Things went on very well for some tune. At last, 
as must be the case when a woman is to the fore, there 
came a tremendous blow-up. One of the giant ? s 
ladies was a foreigner, and had beep married, in her 
cwn country, before she fell into his hands. Mild 
and pale she always was, pretty creature ! lamenting 
the land she had left and the lover she had lost. It 
happened, one day as she sat by the well, that an 
old pilgrim came to the gate, askH. for a draught 
of water, in God ? s name, and held out his pitcher 
for it. Her thoughts were far away, never fear, but 
she had a tender heart, and she raised the cover 
from the well to fill his vessel. While she was doing 
this, the pilgrim pulled off his gown and his false 
beard, and who should he be but h^r own husband ! 
She sprang off her seat towards him, and then, faint 
with joy and pale as death, she sank back into the 
oaken chair on which she had be*m sitting, as the 
guardian of the well. A bird never flew through th e 
air faster than he flew towards her. He seated him- 
self beside her in the chair, held her lovingly in his 
arms, kissed her cheeks and lips twenty times over, 
called her all manner of fond names, and sprinkled 
her with water until the fresh color came again inta 
her face, and the warm life into her heart. 

All this time the well w r as left uncovered an* 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 19 

the waters rose — rose — rose, until they surrounded 
the Castle. Higher and higher did they rise, until, at 
last, down fell the gates, and then the stream rushed 
in, drowning every living soul within the place, and 
settling down into the very lake that we sit by now. 
The moral of the story is, that the lady and the 
pilgrim escaped — for the oaken chair supported them 
and floated them until they safely put their feet on 
dry land. All the rest perished, because they had 
willingly consented to live in sin with the giant ; 
but this one lady had been kept there entirely against 
her will. The two thanked God for their escape 
and returned to their own country, where they lived 
long and happily. It had been the giant's pride t< 
put all his best jewels on whoever kept watch ove, 
the well, in order that all who passed might notice 
them and pay respect to his wealth. As this lady 
had them all upon her when the Castle was swallowed 
up, she and her husband had money enough, out 
of the sale of them, to keep them in a very genteel 
way of life at home. Some people say that, at times, 
the walls of the drowned Castle can be seen through 
the waters of the lake, — but I won't swear to the 
fact, as I never noticed it myself. 



Such was Tim Cronin's account of the formation 
of the lake — a version more pleasant than probable. 
I ventured to inquire how the meadow next thfl 



20 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

waters came to be so bare, while all the others bore- 
such luxuriant grass and grain ? Mr. Cronin asked 
me, whether I saw a gray rock on the left, with three 
pines on its summit. I noticed them, as required.. 
" Then," said he, " look well at the place all around, 
and I shall tell you another story or two about 
Blarney." 

Thus admonished, I took a closer survey of the 
place. The rock rose with a gentle swell in the dis- 
tance, but its front was so precipitous as to be nearly 
perpendicular ; and it was thickly covered with ivy, 
tangled like network, with which were mingled 
wild honeysuckle, dog-rose, and other parasites. 
There was a sort of rugged entrance at its base, over 
which the wild-brier and honeysuckle had formed 
a natural arch. Except this, the rock had a com- 
monplace aspect. 



THE LEGEND OF COKRIG-NA-CAT. 

We call that rock by a strange name — from a 
strange circumstance, said Cronin. Upon the top, 
■some hundreds of years ago, there stood a castle, be- 
longing to the old Kings of Muskerry. Some 
•cousin of theirs lived in it with his family, and was 
as happy as the day is long. How it happened, 
never could be ascertained ; but happen it certainly 
did, that, one night, castle and people and all 
•denly disappeared. I misdoubt that there were bad 
spirits at work. However, the general beliei 
that the rock opened and swallowed all up, and that, 
the lord and lady are kept there, spell-bound, as it 
were, in the shape of cats. From this, the rock is 
called Corrig-na-cat, or the Cat Eock. 'Tis a mighty 
pretty derivation. 

Whether the castle were swallowed up in that 
manner, or not, strange sights have been seen, by 
the light of the full moon, about that place. There 
is a little green spot on the brow of the hill, where 
there is a fairy-circle ; on that spot sweet music Las 
been heard by night, and the good people (as well 
as the fairies) have been seen dancing on the green 
turf, dressed in green and gold, with beautiful 

(21) 



22 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

crowns upon their heads, and white wands in their 
little hands. Ah, sir, you may smile, but that s the 
belief in this part of the country, and he'd be looked, 
upon as no better than a heathen who'd venture to. 
say a word against it. 

My grandfather, although a trifle given to urink, 

was as honest a man as ever broke bread One 

summer night, while he lay in bed, between asleep 

and awake, he heard a strange deep voice speak to 

him. It said, " The words of fate ! heed them. Go, 

at midnight, to Corrig-na-cat ; take with you a box 

of candles and a hundred fathoms of line ; fasten one 

end of the line to the tree that grows just outside the 

mouth of the cave, and, tying the other end round 

your waist, boldly advance with a pair of lighted 

candles in your hands : the use of the line is, that 

you may roll it up as you come back, and not lose 

your way. Keep to the right-hand side, and go on 

til you come to a large room with two cats in it. 

the room beyond that, there is as much gold as 

Duld buy a kingdom. You may take with you a. 

ig to carry away as much of it as you please; but,. 

i your peril, do not touch anything else ; your life 

ill not be worth a brass sixpence, if you do." 

You may be sure, sir, that this piece of informa- 

lon astonished my grandfather. But he was a 

sensible man, and, doubting whether two heads 

would be better than one in such a serious matter,. 

nudged my grandmother with his elbow, to know if 



LEGEND OF COR1UG-NA-CAT. 23 

she was awake. She slept — sound as a top ; so he 
let her sleep on. He was rather too knowing to let 
her into the secret. He thought over all that he had 
ever heard of Corrig-na-cat ; he called to mind how 
his mother had always said that our family were tha 
real descendants of the lord and lady- of the castle. 
He bep-an to fancy that this was some great oracle 
that had come to visit him, in order that he might 
break the spell that kept the castle and its inhabi- 
tants closed up in the rock. Indeed, he was very 
much perplexed, but determined to wait a bit, and 
carefully keep his own counsel. 

A warning from the world of spirits is worth 
nothing, if it is not repeated. The next night, my 
grandfather again was cautioned to listen to the 
words of fate. The third night the visitation was 
repeated. He knew, then, that the thing was no 
feint ; and on the fourth night, he stole out of the 
house to go on the adventure. 

It was as pitch dark as if light had never been 
invented. He took the hundred fathoms of line, the 
box of candles, a sack to bring home a supply of 
gold, and a good-sized flask of strong whiskey. 
When he reached the rock, his heart began to fail 
him. The night was so still that he could hear the 
beating of his heart — thump, thump, thump, against 
his breast. He could hear the bats flying about, and 
he could see the owls looking on him with their 
great, round, brown eyes. Swallowing most of the 



2-i BITS OF BLARNEY. 

contents of the flask at one pull, he found his spirits 
wonderfully restored, and he pushed forward to the 
mouth of the cave. He fastened one end of the line 
to the tree ; he said an Ave or two — for we are all 
of us a pious family — he drained the flask, and then 
he dashed forward. 

The way was as straight as an arrow for about 
thirty yards, but, after that, it took as many turnings 
and twistings as a problem of Euclid in the sixth 
book, and branched out into many directions. My 
grandfather followed on the right-hand side, as he 
had been told, and soon found himself at the gate 
way of an old hall. He pushed open the door, and 
saw that there were doors upon doors, leading off to 
many a place. He still kept to the right, and in 
a few minutes found himself in a state-chamber. 
Pillars of white marble supported the roof, and, at 
the farthest end, the hall opened into an apartment, 
through which there beamed a soft and beautiful 
light, as if it came from a thousand shaded lamps. 

Here was the end of his journey. A carved 
mantel-piece of white marble was over the fire- 
place, and there lay two beautiful white cats, on 
crimson- velvet cushions, before the fire. Diamonds 
and rubies, emeralds and amethysts, pearls and 
topazes, were piled on the ground in heaps, and 
ceiling and walls were covered all over with them, 
so that rays of light gleamed down upon him, 
wherever he looked. 



LEGEND OF COKK1G-NA-CAT. 25 

There was no living thing in the room with my 
•grandfather but the cats. The creatures had golden 
collars, embossed with diamonds, round their necks; 
and to these were fastened long gold chains, which 
just gave them liberty to move round the room, 
being fastened to the walls, one at each side, by 
golden staples. He noticed that the animals steadily 
kept their eyes upon him, and appeared to watch 
every motion of his. 

My grandfather passed On into the inner room. The 
gold lay on the floor like wheat in a miller's store. 
He filled his sack with the coin to the brim, until, 
though he was said to be the strongest man in the 
whole barony, he had some difficulty in lifting it. 
As he passed through the room in which the cats 
were, he paused for a moment, to have a parting 
glance at all the treasures he was leaving. There 
was one golden star, studded with diamonds as big 
•as walnuts, and blazing like a lamp, hanging down 
before him from the ceiling. It was too tempting 
He forgot the advice not to touch anything but the 
gold in the inner room, and reached out his hand to 
seize the sparkling prize. One of the cats, who had 
eagerly watched his motions, sprang forward as he 
•touched the jewel, and quick as a lightning-stroke, 
nit out his right eye with a sharp dash of his 
paw. At the same moment, an invisible hand 
whipped off the sack of gold from his shoulders, as 
if it were only a bag of feathers. Out went all the 
2 



26 BITS OF BLAKNEY. 

lights. My grandfather groped his way out as well 
as he could, by the help of the guiding-line fastened 
to his wrist, and cursed his greediness, that would 
not be content with enough. He got home by day- 
break, with only one eye in his head, and that, with- 
out meaning to joke on his misfortune, was the left one- 
Next day he sent for the priest, and told him 
what had happened. My grandmother said that all 
the misfortune was owing to her not being in the 
secret. The priest said nothing. Before long, all 
the country heard of the story, and half the country 
believed it. To be sure, as my grandfather was 
rather addicted to liquor (and there was a private 
still, in those ac.ys, in almost every corner), it was a 
chance that he might have dreamt all this : — but 
then, there was his right eye absent. There were 
some malicious people, indeed, who hinted that he 
fell over the cliff, in a drunken fit, and that his eye 
was scratched out in that manner. But it would ill 
beseem me to make a story-teller of my dead-and 
gone grandfather, and so I maintain the truth of his- 
own statement. If it is not true, it deserves to be. 
In this conclusion I fully agreed, and the Philo- 
math, proud of the display of his legendary lore, 
and happy on having fallen in with a patient and 
willing auditor, next proceeded to acquaint me with, 
the accredited legend of the meadow next the lake. 
As before, I shall endeavor, in repeating it. to ad 
hers to the very words of my informant. 



LEGEKD OF THE KOCK CLOSE. 

About a thousand years ago, or so — but, of 
course, after this lake was formed, to fulfil the old 
fairy's prophecy, that the giant would come to his. 
death by water — there was a man who owned all 
the fields in the Eock Close. He was a farmer — a! 
plain, honest man. Not long after he had purchased 
the place, he noticed that, though this very field we 
are now sitting in had the same cultivation as 
others, it never gave him any return. He had □ 
idea of having a meadow look like a lawn in front 
of a gentleman's country-house, and lost no timt 
speaking about it to his herdsman, a knowledges 
man, who said it might be worth while to watch I 
place, for, although he often saw the blades of gi . 
a foot high at night, all was as closely shaved a 
bowling-green in the morning. His master, v 
was one of the old stock of the Mac Carthies, thou r > I . 
there was reason in what he said, and desired him 
to be on the watch, and try to find out the real facts 
of the matter. 

The herdsman did his bidding. The next morn- 
ing he told Mac Carthy that he had hid himself be- 
hind an old gateway (you may see the ruins of it 

(2T) 




28 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

there to the left), — that, about midnight, he had seen 
the waters of the lake very much disturbed, — that 
six cows came up out of the lake, and set to, eating 
all the grass off the field, until, by daybreak, they 
had made it as smooth as the palm of my hand, — 
and that, when the day dawned, the cows walked 
back into the lake, and went down to the bottom, 
as much at their ease as if they were on dry 
land. 

This was strange news for Mac Carthy, and set 
him quite at his wits' ends. The herdsman was a 
little man, with the heart of a lion, and he offered 
to watch again on that evening, to seize one of the 
cows, and either put it into the pound, or go down 
into the lake with it, and make a regular complaint 
of the trespass. Aye, and he did it, too. At dusk 
he went again, hid himself, as before, and waited to 
see what would happen. 

The six cows came up out of the lake, as before, 
•and nibbled off the grass, until the field was quite 
smooth. They could not get into any other field, 
because they were surrounded by high, quickset 
iiedges, and I have noticed that cows are not very 
fond of taking flying-leaps. 

Just at dawn, as the last cow was passing by him, 
on her return to the lake, the herdsman made a dart 
-at her tail, and took a fast hold of it. The cow 
walked on, as if nothing had happened, turned her 
head, winked one of her large eyes at him in a 






LEGE.N1> OF THE ROCK L< 2fr 

knowing manner, and the herdsman followed, still 
hoJding the tail. 

Down dashed the beast into the waters — but the 
herdsman still kept his grasp. Down they went — 
deep, deep, to the very bottom of the lake. Sure 
enough, there was the giant's castle, that had been 
drowned centuries before. A little boy was in the 
court-yard, playing with a golden ball. All round 
the yard were piles of armor — spears and helmets, 
swords and shields, — all ornamented with gold. 
Into the court-yard dashed the cows, and with them 
went the bold herdsman. 

Out came a lady, richly dressed up in velvets and 
jewels, and her eyes as bright as the sunbeams that 
dance on the wall on the morning of Easter Sunday.* 
She carried a golden milk-pail in her hand. Loud 
and shrill was her cry when she saw the herdsman. 

I should have told you that, as they were going 
down, the cow whispered to him, " I want to speak 
a word with you, in confidence." — "Honor bright," 
said the herdsman. — "I think," said the cow, "that 
I'd like to graze on that meadow of your master's, 
by day as well as by night, for the grass is mighty 
sweet, and I don't think it agrees with my digestion 
to be driven up and down the lake as I am. If I 



* There is a popular belief in Ireland that the sunbeams dance 
on the wall on Easter Sunday morning. In my youth I have- 
often got up at early dawn to witness the phenomenon. 



30 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

stand your friend now, will you go bail that the 
master will never put me into any other field but 
that?" — The herdsman answered, "I'll promise 
.you, by the holy poker, and that is as good as if I 
w r ? to swear by the blessed mud.'' — " Then my mind 
is at ease," says the cow. " For the life of you, don't 
lt + go my tail, whatever you may hear and see." 

When the young lady shrieked with surprise at 
seeing a herdsman in that place, out rushed a whole 
regiment of soldiers, with their cheeks as red as the 
kitchen-fire five minutes before the dinner is done, 
and the looks of them as fierce as if they were in the 
heat of battle— a little fiercer, may-be. — "Oh, that 
villain !" says the lady, pointing to the herdsman. — 
" Come here, and be killed," shouted the dragoons. 
But the herdsman knew better. " Send your mas- 
ter to me," says he, as bold as brass. " I always like 
to do business with principals." 

They wondered, as well they might, at the fellow's 
impudence, but they thought it best to call out their 
master. He came, with a golden crown upon his 
head, and a purple velvet cloak on his shoulders, 
and a beautiful pair of Hessian boots on his feet. — 
" I demand justice," said the herdsman, " for the tres- 
pass that your cows have been committing on Mac 
Carthy's field ; and I seize this cow until the damage 
be ascertained and made good.' 

He was firm as a rock, and neither coaxing nor 
threatening could make him yield as much as a pin's 






point. He stood upon his right, and they could not 
get him off it. The cow had been seized in the very 
.act of trespass, and all they dared do was to tempt 
the herdsman to surrender her. He knew better. 
At last the master of them said, " We must compro- 
mise this little matter. Leave the cow here, make 
out your bill for damage, and if I don't pay it to 
you either in sterling money, or notes of Delacour's 
bank at Mallow, or Joe Pike's in Cork, you can have 
your remedy at l'aw, and summon me, on a process, 
before the Assistant Barrister and the bench of 
Magistrates at the next Quarter Sessions." — But the 
herdsman knew better than that, and said he'd pre- 
fer leaving matters as they were. "A cow in the 
hand" — says he. Then the master of them said, 
" Take that golden ball that the child has, and leave 
us the cow." — " Hand it over to me," says the herds- 
man. — " Come for it," said they, in the hope that he'd 
leave the cow. — "I've a touch of the rheumatism in 
my knee," says he, " and 'tis ill-convenient to move 
the limb." — With that, they handed him the ball, 
and, as soon as he saw that it really was gold, he 
put it into his breeches pocket, and said it was not 
half enough. 

Then they began to whisper among themselves, 
and he could hear them proposing to get out a 
bloodhound — one of the breed that the Spaniards 
had to hunt down the Indians in America — and he 
thought it full time to make himself scarce. So, b' 



/! 



i . . BLARNEY. 

whispered to the cow: — "My little cow," said he,. 
" I'd like to go home." The cow took the hint, 
like a sensible animal as she was, and stole back- 
ward through half the lake before they missed her. 
"If we get safely back on dry land," says she, 
" neither you nor any one else must swear in my 
presence, for the spell is upon me, and then I shall 
be obliged to return to the lake." 

Just then the hound was slipped, and he cut 
through the water like a dolphin. But the cow had 
the start of him, by a good bit. Just as she set her 
foot on land, the dog caught hold of the herdsman, 
and his bite tore away part of the skirt of his coat. 
Indeed, it was noticed for some days that the herds- 
man declined sitting down, just as if he had been 
newly made a Freemason, so I won't say that the 
dog did not bite more than the garment. 

Mac Carthy had been cooling his heels on the 
bank of the lake all the while that the herdsman 
was away, and glad enough he was to see him come 
back, in company with the little cow. The herds- 
man told him all that happened, and handed him 
the golden ball, which, people say, is in the Jeffreys' 
family to this day. The hound runs round the lake, 
from midnight to sunrise, on every first of July, and 
is to run, on that day, until his silver shoes are 
worn out, — whenever that happens, Ireland is to be 
a great nation, but not until then. 

The field was not visited any more by the cattle 



LEGEND OF THE ROCK CLOSE. 33 

from the lake, for their master, below there, thought 
that though gratis grazing was pleasant enough, it 
was not quite so pleasant to have the cows impounded 
for trespass. From that time, never another field 
in all Munster gave such produce ; sow it, or sow it 
not, there was always a barn-full of grain out of it. 
About half an acre of it was kept under grass, and 
on that the cow from the lake had constant feeding. 

In due season, the cow had young ones — the 
same breed that we now call Kerry cows — those 
cattle, small in size, but good in substance, that feed 
upon very little, yield a great deal of milk, and 
always fetch the best of prices. 

Mac Carthy was in a fair way of making a little 
fortune out of that cow of his, she gave such a 
power of milk, but that, one day as a nag of his was 
leaping over a hedge into the pasturage where the 
cow was, Mac Carthy burst out with a rattling 
oath. The moment the words left his lips, the cow 
cocked her ears, winked her eye knowingly at him, 
gave her tail a toss in the air, and made one spring 
down into the lake. The waters closed over her, 
and that was -the last that mortal eye ever saw of her. 

From that time forth the field was again visited 
by the cattle from the lake, and that's the reason 
why it is as smooth as you see it now. It is sup- 
posed that so it will continue until somebody has 
the bold heart to go down again and make another 
seizure for trespass. 
2* 



34 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Mr. Jeffreys, hearing a great deal of the treasures 
which are said to be at the bottom of the lake, laid 
out a power of money in trying to drain it. But it 
filled faster than the men could empty it. They 
might as well think of emptying the Atlantic with a 
slop-basin. 



Having thanked Mr. Tim Cronin, Philomath, for 
hi° legends, I took the liberty of asking if he be- 
lieved them ? " Well," said he, " that same question 
is a poser. If I am pressed on the point, I must ad- 
mit that I do not believe them entirely ; but, when I 
meet curious gentlemen, I am proud to tell them 
these stories — particularly when they invite me to 
spend the afternoon with them at the little inn at the 
foot of the hill beyond there." 

The hint was taken — as far as enabling him, as he 
said, to partake of his own hospitality, for my own 
time was limited, as I had to return to dine in Cork. 
Thus, I was unable to judge whether Mr. Cronin 
was as conversable after feeding-time as before it. 
He died some two years ago, I have been told, and 
it will be difficult to meet with a Cicerone so well 
qualified to describe and illustrate Blarney Castle 
and its dependencies. 



CON O'KEEFE AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 

In Ireland^ as in Scotland, among the lower c ?- 
ders, there is a prevalent belief in the existence and 
.supernatural powers of the gentry commonly called 
"" fairies." Many and strange are the stories told of 
•this mysterious and much dreaded race of beings. 
Loud and frequent have been the exclamations of 
surprise, and even of anger, at the hard incredulity 
which made me refuse, when I was young, to credit 
■all that was narrated of the wonderful feats of Irish 
fairies — the most frolicksome of the entire genus. 
The more my disbelief was manifested, the more 
wonderful were the legends which were launched 
at me, to overthrow my unlucky and matter-of-fact 
•obstinacy. 

I have forgotten many of the traditions which 
were thus made familiar to me in my boyhood, but 
my memory retains sufficient to convince me tbwhat 
improbabilities Superstition clung — and the more 
wonderful the story, the more implicit the belief. 
But in such cases the fanaticism was harmless, — it 
was of the head rather than of the heart — of the 
imagination rather than the reason. It would be 
fortunate if all superstitions did as little mischief as 
this. 

(85) 



db BITS OF BLARNEY. 

It is deeply to be lamented that the matter-of* 
factedness of the Americans is not subdued or modi- 
fied by any — even the slightest — belief in the old- 
world superstitions of which I speak. Of fairy -lore 
they cannot, and they do not, possess the slightest, 
it 3m. They read of it, as if it were legendary, but 
nothing more. They feel it not — they know it — 
they are, therefore, dreadfully actual. So much the- 
worse for them ! 

Having imbibed a sovereign contempt for the wild 
and wonderful traditions which had been duly ac- 
credited in the neighborhood, time out of mind, I. 
never was particularly chary in expressing such 
contempt at every opportunity. "When the mind 
of a boy soars above the ignorance which besets his. 
elders in an inferior station, who have had neither 
the chance nor the desire of being enlightened, he 
is apt to pride himself, as I did, on the "march of 
intellect" which has placed him superior to their 
vulgar credulitjr. 

Many years have passed since I happened to be 
a temporary visitor beneath the hospitable roof of 
one of the better sort of farmers, in the county of' 
Cork, during the Midsummer holidays. As usual, 
I there indulged in sarcasm against the credulity of 
the country. One evening, in particular, I was not. 
a little tenacious in laughing at the very existence 
of "the fairy folk;" and, as sometimes happens, ridi- 
cule accomplished more than argument could have- 



con o'kkefe and the golden cup. 37 

•effected. My hosts could bear anything in the way 
•of argument — at least of argument such as mine — 
they could even suffer their favorite legends and 
theories about the fairies to be abused ; but to laugh 
at them — that was an act of unkindness which quite, 
passed their comprehension, and grievously taxed 
their patience. 

My host was quite in despair, and almost in anger 
-at my boyish jokes upon his fairy -legends, when tie 
village schoolmaster came in, an uninvited but most 
welcome guest. A chair was soon provided for him 
in the warmest corner — whiskey was immediately 
•on the table, and the schoolmaster, who was a pretty 
•constant votary to Bacchus, lost no time in making 
himself acquainted with its flavor. 

I had often seen him before. He combined in his 
•character a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity; 
was a most excellent mathematician and a good 
•classical scholar — but of the world he knew next to 
•nothing. From youth to age had been speni within 
the limits of the parish over which, cane in hand, he 
had presided for more than a quarter of a century, — 
■at once a teacher and an oracle ! He was deeply 
imbued with a belief in the superstitions of the dis- 
trict, but was more especially familiar with the wild 
legends of that rocky glen (the defile near Kilworth, 
•commonly called Araglin, once famous for the extent 
of illicit distillation carried on there), in which he 
•had passed away his life, usefully, but humbly em- 
ployed. 



db BITS OF BLAKNEY. 

To ihis eccentric character my host triumphantly 
appealed for proof respecting the existence and vaga- 
ries of the fairies. He wasted no time in argument, 
but, glancing triumphantly around, declared that he- 
would convert me by a particularly well-attested 
story. Draining his tumbler, and incontinently 
mixing another, Mr. Patrick McCann plunged at 
once into the heart of his narration, as follows : 

" You know the high hill that overlooks the town 
of Fermoy ? Handsome and thriving place as it, 
now is, I remember the time when there were only 
two houses in that same town, and one of them was 
then only in course of building ! Well, there lived 
on the other side of Corran Thierna (the mountain 
in question, though Corrig is the true name) one of 
the Barrys, a gentleman who was both rich and 
good. I wish we had more of the stamp among 
us now — 'tis little of the Whiteboys or Ribbonmen 
would trouble the country then. He had a fine for- 
tune, kept up a fine house, and lived at a dashing 
rate. It does not matter, here nor there, how many 
servants he had ; but I mention them, because one- 
of them was a very remarkable fellow. His equal, 
was not to be had, far or near, for love, nor money. 

"This servant was called Con O'Keefe. He was 
a crabbed little man, with a face the very color and 
texture of old parchment, and he had lived in the 
family time out of mind. He was such a small,, 
dwarfish, deeny creature, that no one ever thought 



CON O'KEEFE AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 39 

of tutting him to hard work. All that tkcj did 
was, now and again, from the want of a better mes- 
senger at the moment, or to humor the old man, to 
send him to Rathcormac post-office for letters. But 
he was too weak and feeble to walk so far — though 
it was only a matter of three or four miles ; so they 
got him a little ass, and he rode upon it, quite as 
proud as a general at the head of an army of con- 
querors. 'Twas as good as a play to see Con 
mounted upon his donkey — you could scarcely 
make out which had the most stupid look. But 
neither man nor beast can help his looks. 

" At that time Rathcormac, though 'tis but a vil- 
lage now, was a borough, and sent two members to 
the Irish Parliament. Was not the great Curran, 
the orator and patriot, member for Rathcormac, 
when he was a young man ? Did not Colonel Ton- 
son get made an Irish peer, out of this very borough, 
which his son William is, to this very day, by the 
title of Baron Riversdale of Rathcormac ? Does not 
his shield bear an open hand between two castles, 
and is not the motto, ' Manus hasc inimica ty rannis' — 
which means that it was the enemy of tyrants ? Did 
not the Ulster King of Arms make the Tonsons a 
grant of these arms, in the time of Cromwell ? But 
here I have left poor little Con mounted on his don- 
key all this time. 

" Con O'Keefe was not worth his keep, for any good 
he did ; but, truth to say, he had the name of being 



40 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

hand and glove with the fairies ; and, at that time, 
Corran Thierna swarmed with them. They changed 
their quarters when the regiments from Fermoy 
barracks took to firing against targets stuck up at 
the foot of the mountain. Not that a ball could 
ever hit a fairy (except a silver one cast by a girl in 
her teens, who has never wished for a lover, or a 
widow under forty who has not sighed for a second 
husband — so there's little chance that it ever will 
be cast), but they hate the noise of the firing and 
the smell of gunpowder, quite as much as the Devil 
batfcs holy water. 

<0 Tis reckoned lucky in these parts to have a 
friend of the fairies in the house with you, and that 
was partly the reason why Con O'Keefe was kept at 
Barry's-fort. Many and many a one could swear to 
hearing him and ' the good folk ' talk together at 
twilight on his return from Eathcormac with the 
letter-bag. My own notion is, that if he had any- 
thing to say to them, he had more sense than to hold 
conversation with them on the high road, for that 
might have led to a general discovery. Con was 
tbnd of a drop, and, when he took it (which was in 
an algebraic way, that is, ' any given quantity '), he 
had such famous spirits, and his tongue went so 
glibly, that, in the absence of other company, he 
was sometimes forced to talk to himself, as he trotted 
home. 

11 One night, as he was going along, rather the 



CON O'kEEFE AND THE GOLDEN CLP. 41 

worse for liquor, he thought he heard a confused 
sound of voices in the air, directly over his head. 
He stopped, and, sure enough, it was the fairies, 
who were chattering away, like a bevy of magpies . 
but he did not know this at the time. 

" At first he thought it might be some of the 
neighbors wanting to play him a trick. So, to 
show that he was not afraid (for the drink had 
made him bold as a lion), when the voices above 
and around him kept calling out ' High up ! high 
up !' he put in his spok,e, and shouted, as loud up 
any of them, 'High up! high up with ye, my lads ; 
No sooner said than done. He was whisked off Iris 
donkey in a twinkling, and was 'high up' in the ai? 
in the very middle of a crowd of ' good people' — foj 
it happened to be one of their festival nights, and 
the cry that poor little Con heard was the summon * 
for gathering them all together. There they were, 
mighty small, moving about as quickly as motes in 
the sunshine. Although Con had the reputation at 
Barry's-fort of being well acquainted with tho^n all, 
you may well believe that there was not a singh. jace 
among the lot that he knew. 

" In less thau no time, off they went, when their 
•leader — a little morsel of a fellow, not bigger than 
Hop-o'-my Thumb — bawled out, ' High for France ! 
high for Franoe ! high over !' Off they went, 
•through the air — quick as if they were on a steeple- 
chase. Moss and moor — mountain and valley — 



42 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

green field and brown bog — land and water were 
all left behind, and they never once halted until 
they reached the coast of France. 

" They immediately made for the house (there it 
is called the chateau) of a great lord — one of the 
Seigneurs of the Court — and bolted through the 
key -hole into his wine-cellar, without leave or license. 
How little Con was squeezed through, I never could 
understand, but it is as sure as fate that he went into 
the cellar along with them. They soon got astride 
the casks, and commenced drinking the best wines, 
without waiting to be invited. Con, you may be 
sure, was not behind any of them, as far as the 
drinking went. The more he drank, the better 
relish he had for their tipple. The 'good people,' 
somehow or other, did not appear at all surprised at 
Con's bein^- among them, but they did wonder at 
his great thirst, and pressed him to take enough — 
and Con was not the man who'd wait to be asked. 
twice. So they drank on till night slipped away, 
when the sun- — like a proper gentleman as he is — 
sent in one of his earliest beams, as a sort of gentle: 
hint that it was full time for them to return. They 
had a parting-glass, and, in» half an hour or so.. 
had crossed the wide sea, and dropped little Con 
('pretty well, I thank you,' by this time) on the- 
piecise spot he had left on the evening before. He 
had been drinking out of a beautiful golden cup in 
the cellar, and, by some mistake or other, it had 



con o'keefe and the golden cup. 43 

slipped up the sleeve of the large loose coat he wore, 
and so he brought it home with him. Not that Ccn 
was not honest enough, but surely a man may be 
oxcused for taking 'a cap too much' in a wine- 
cellar. 

"Con was soon awakened by the warm sunbeams 
playing upon his face. At first, he thought he had 
been dreaming, and he might have thought so to his 
dying day, but that, Avhen he got on his feet, the 
golden cup rolled on the road before him, and was 
proof positive that all was a reality. 

" He said his prayers directly, between him anc 
harm. Then he put up the cup and walked home, 
where, as his little donkey had returned on the pre- 
vious night without him, the family had given him 
up as lost or drowned. Indeed, some of them had 
sagaciously suggested the probability of his having 
gone off for good with the fairies. 

" Xow, does not my story convince you that there 
must hd such things as fairies? It is not more than 
twenty years since I heard Con O'Keefe tell the 
whole story from beginning to end; and he'd say or 
swear with any man that the whole of it was as true 
as gospel. And, as sure as my name is Patrick 
McCann, I do believe that Con was in strange com- 
pany that night." 

I ventured to say to Mr. McCann that, being yet 
incredulous, I must have better evidence than little 
Con's own declaration. 



44 BITS OF BLAltNEVT. 

"To be sure you shall," said he. "Was not the 
golden cup taken up to Barry 's-fort, and to be seen-- 
•as seen it was — by the whole country?" 

I answered that, " Certainly, if the cup is to be 
seen there, the case is materially altered." 

" I did not say that the cup is at Barry 's-fort," 
said McCann, "only that it was. The end of tiie 
story, indeed, is nearly as strange as the beginning. — 
When Con O'Keefe came back from his wonderful 
excursion, no one believed a word of what he said ; 
for though it was whispered that he was great with 
"the fairies, yet, when the matter came tangibly be- 
fore them, they did not credit it. But Con soon 
settled their doubts; he brought forward the cup, 
and there was no gainsaying that evidence. 

" Mr. Barry took the cup into his own keeping, and, 
the name and residence of the French lord being 
engraved upon it, determined (as in honor bound) to 
send it home again. So he went off to Cove, without 
any delay, taking Con with him ; and, as there luck- 
ily was a vessel going off to France that very day, 
he sent off little Con with the cup and his very best 
compliments. 

Now, the cup was a great favorite with the French 
lord (being a piece of family plate, given to one of 
his ancestors by one of the old kings of France, 
whose life he had saved in battle), and nothing 
could equal the hubbub and confusion that arose 
*when it was missing. His lordship called for some 



cox o'keefe and the golden cup. 43 

wine at dinnei . and great was his anger when the- 
lackey handed it to him in a glass, declaring that 
they conld nol- find the golden go Diet. He threw 
glass, and wine, and all, at the servant's head — flew 
into a terrible passion — and swore, by all that was 
good and bad, that he would not take any thing- 
stronger than water until the cup was on the table 
again ; and that, if it was not forthcoming in a week, 
he'd turn off every servant he had, without paying 
them their wages, or giving them a character. 

" The cup was well searched for, but all to no pur- 
pose, as you may suppose. At last, the week came 
to an end — -all the servants had their clothes packed 
up, to be off in the morning. His lordship was 
getting dreadfully tired of drinking cold water, and 
the whole house was, as one may say, turned topsy- 
turvy, when, to the delight and admiration of all, in 
came Con O'Keefe, from Ireland, with a letter from 
Mr. Barry and the cup in his fist. 

"I rather think they welcomed him. His lordship 
made it a point to get 'glorious' that night, and 
as in duty bound, the entire household followed his 
example, with all the pleasure in life. You may be 
certain that Con played away finely at the wine— 
you know the fairies had made him free of the cellar — 
so he knew the taste of the liquor, and relished it too. 
There caa be no doubt that there was a regular jol- 
lification in the chateau that night. 

" Con remained in France for a moEth, ard was 



4b BITS OF BLARNEY. 

perfectly in clover, for, from the lord to the lackey, 
every one liked him. When, he returned, he had a 
heavy purse of gold for himself, and many fine pres- 
ents for his master. Indeed, while the French lord 
lived, which was for fifteen good years longer, a 
couple of hogsheads of excellent claret were annually 
received at Barry's-fort, as a present from him, and 
there was no wine in the country to equal it. As 
ibr Con O'Keefc. he never had the luck to meet the 
fairies again, a misfortune he very sincerely la- 
mented. And that's the whole story." 

I asked Mr. McCann, whether he really believed 
all of it? That worthy rejDlied in these words : — 

" Why, in truth, I must say, some parts of it re- 
quire rather an elastic mind to take in ; but there's 
no doubt that Con was sent over to France, where, 
it is said, there was a great to-do about a golden 
cup. I am positive that Mr. Barry used to receive a 
present of claret, every year, from a French lord, 
for I've drank some of the best claret in Ireland 
from Mr. Barry ; s cellar. If the tale be true — and I 
have told it as I have heard Con O'Keefe tell it, es- 
pecially when overcome by liquor, at which time, 
the truth is sure to come out — it is proof positive, 
that there have been fairies in this neighborhood, 
and that within the memory of man !" 

Such a logical conclusion was incontrovertible, 
especially when enforced by a facetious wink fro*n 
the schoolmaster; so, I evec left matters as tb*^ 



A BIT OF A PKOMISE. 47 

were, and listened with all proper attention to other 
stories in the same vein, and to the same effect. If 
the narrator did not credit them, most of his audi- 
tors did, which amounts to much the same in the 
end. Some other time, perhaps, I may be tempted 
to relate them. 






LEGENDS OF FINN MAC COUL. 

There is a similarity, all over the world, be- 
tween the popular legends and traditions of different 
nations. They are reproduced, with slight differ- 
ences of circumstance and costume, to suit each 
new locality. For example, the Maiden Tower at 
Constantinople, actually built by the Emperor 
Manuel, centuries ago, for the purpose of a double- 
communication — with Scutari, on the Asian side, 
an' 3 with the point of coast occupied by the Serai 
Bournou on the Asian. Whenever the hostile visit 
of a Venetian fleet was anticipated, a strong iron 
chain used to be drawn on both sides, across the 
entire breadth of the strait. Eespecting this are 
several legends, all of which have their prototypes 
in the West. 

The generally received account has appropriated 
it as the place in which, for safety, a damsel was 
held in close retirement until the fatal time named 
in a prediction should have passed away; but a 
serpent, accidentally brought up in a basket of 
fruit, caused the maiden's death. Here is a striking 
illustration of the similarity between the legends 
of the East and those of the West. In the Third 

(48) 



LEGENDARY LORE. 49 

Calendar's Story, in the Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
ments (which have charmed all of us in youth, and 
rarely fail to delight us when we return to them in 
maturer years), the whole interest turns on an inci- 
dent of the same character. Both stories appear 
deeply imbued with that fatality which forms the 
distinguishing feature in Eastern belief and practice. 
Near Bristol, also, are the remains of a tower, called 
Cook's Folly, erected to be the dwelling-place of a 
youth of whom it had been predicted that (like the 
heroine of the Turkish legend) his life would be in 
peril from a serpent until the completion of his 
eighteenth year. The dangerous time had nearly 
expired, when the youth died from the venomous 
bite of an adder, which had been accidentally con- 
veyed to his isolated abode in a bundle of fagots. 

In the south of Ireland, on the summit of a moun- 
tain called Corrig Thierna (the Chieftain's Kock), is 
a heap of stones which, if there be truth in tradition, 
was brought there to build a castle in which was to 
dwell a son of Roche, Prince of Fermoy, of whom 
it had been predicted that he would be drowned be- 
fore his twentieth year. The child, when only five 
years old, fell into a pool of water which had been 
collected, on the top of the mountain, to make 
mortar for the erection of the tower, in which it 
was intended he should be kept "out of harm's 
way," until the perilous period had elapsed. The 
child was drowned. In each case, the prophecy 
3 



50 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

appears to have brought about its own fulfilment. 
There is a moral in these old traditions, did we bo» 
know how to seize and apply it. 

Washington Irving has localized several ie 
gends as American, but his Eip Van Winkle na:< 
been traced to a German origin, and many of his 
other legends appear to be old friends in a new 
attire. Who can say whence any traditional stories 
-are derived? Some years ago, a supplement to the 
Thousand-and-One Nights, containing an Arabian 
tale called the Sage Heycar, was published at Paris, 
and the translator noted the curious fact that this 
Oriental story contained many incidents exactly 
similar to passages in the life of iEsop : such as 
sixteen pages of details of a visit made by Heycar 
to the court of Pharaoh, which are the same, word 
for word, with the account of the like visit made by 
JEsop. So, too, the challenge which Pharaoh sent 
to the King of Abyssinia, demanding him to build 
a palace in the air, and the ingenious means to which 
JEsop had recourse, are transferred to I ley car. Even 
the fables of JEsop, the Phrygian, have been claimed 
for Lokman, the Arabian philosopher, and now the 
-very incidents of his life are taken from him by 
Heycar. 

The Coventry legend of Lady Godiva is claimed 
by the Arabians. In Yon Hammer's new Arabian 
Nights is the story called Camaralzeman and the 
Jeweller's Wife, founded on an incident precisely 



LEGENDARY LOBE. 51 

similar to that in which the English heroine ap- 
pears. 

The truth is, it is impossible to ascertain what co- 
incident mythology connects the East and the West. 
We know not what relation Thor of Scandinavia 
may have with Vishnu of Hindostam The oldest 
English and Irish stories appear to have correspond- 
ing legends among the Celts, Danes, Scandinavians, 
and Normans, and, again, these have wandered 
either to or from the East. Even such thoroughly 
English stories as Tom Thumb, Jack the Giant 
Killer, and Whittington and his Cat, are claimed as 
aboriginal in foreign countries. The Wise Men of 
Gotham, one of the oldest English provincial legends, 
is given, nearly verbatim, in one of the German pop- 
ular stories, collected by the Brothers Grimm, and 
its incidents may be found in the Pentamerone (in 
the story of Bardiello), but has been translated from 
the Tamul tongue, which is a dialect of Southern 
India, as the " Adventures of Gooroo Noodle and 
his Five Disciples." 

The Germans are very fond of legendary lore. 
Like the Irish, they have their cellar-haunters, who 
invariably tap the best wine, and make themselves 
merry with whatever the cellar and larder can sup- 
ply. Like the Irish, too, they have traditions of gi- 
gantic dwellers in the land, in days gone by, and 
they repeople the Hartz with men of enormous 
-stature and strength, capable of daring and doing 



52 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

any thing, yet who differ from the Genii, in the Ara- 
bian Tales, who are spoken of as possessing super- 
natural powers, while the giants of Western tradition, 
having nothing remarkable, except their size and 
strength, and so far from being endowed with more 
than human powers, may be noticed, on the con- 
trary, as being slow-witted and rather dull of com- 
prehension, — for, like most very tall people of the- 
present day, their upper story is unfurnished. Such 
were Finn Mac Coul, and his great rival, Ossian, 
neither of whom can be named as remarkably bright 
"boys." There are a few instances of this which 
may be worth recording. For example : — 



FINN AND THE FISH. 

In the good old times, " when Malachi wor3 the 
collar of gold, which he won from the proud Inva- 
der," no Irish hero was more celebrated than Finn 
Mac Coul. What cabin is there, from the Gian 's 
Causeway to Cape Clear, which is not full of nis 
glory ? 

Finn Mac Coul was famous for his strength o: n 
mind and body, for his wisdom and his might. 
"The Saxons fled before him when he unfurled Ire- 
land's ancient banner — which bore the poetical name 
•of The Sunburst — and thousands arrayed them- 
selves around it ; mountain and vale, plain and tarn, 
hall and bower, were full of the glory of his grace- 
ful deeds of gentle courtesy. His mighty mind was 
suitably lodged, for he was tall as one of the sons of 
Anak, and might have passed for own brother to 
Iiim of Gath. 

Before relating any of his wonderful bodily 
achievements, it may be as well to mention the 
mysterious manner in which his wisdom, like a 
tangible revelation, fell upon him. 

In the ancient days of Ireland's glory, the prov- 
ince of Munster was a Kingdom, and was called 
Momonia. One of the Mac Carthy family had 

(5^ 



64 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

sovereign sway. He was a good-natured, soft- 
hearted, fat-headed sort of neutral character — one of 
that class, still too common in Ireland, known by 
the apologetic sobriquet of " nobody's enemy but his 
own." He kept open house for all comers, and the 
effect of his undiscriminating hospitality was, that, a. 
monarch in name, he was next to a pauper in 
reality, living, as the saying is, quite "from hand to 
mouth." This he conld have borne, for, like the 
eels, he was nsed to it ; but the empty state of his 
exchequer rendered him unable to pay for the mili- 
tary services of his subjects, and the result was, that 
his dominions gradually fell into a state of partition 
among his brother monarchs of greater power, richer 
treasury, and smaller hospitality. 

It happened that one of these, named Mac Murragb 
—an ancestor of him whose daughter's frailty led to 
the subjugation of Ireland by Henry II. — ruled over 
Leinster, while poor Mac Carthy was enjoying nomi- 
nal empire over the rich plains of Mnnster. Mao 
Murragh was ambitions. He saw what an easy 
prey Monionia might be. He wished to feed his; 
herds npon that beautiful tract of land intersected 
by the river Suir, which even yet is called " The- 
Golden Vale," and he declared war to the knife 
against King Mac Carthy. 

It happened that Mac Carthy was fully aware of 
the value of the golden vale — indeed, it was the very 
pride of his heart. He determined to resist his foe,. 



FINN AND THE FISH. 55 

as best he could. But before taking up arms, on 
the defensive, he resolved to have recourse to other 
than mortal aid. 

It was some time before the avatar of Saint Pa- 
trick — that redoubted patriarch whose mission it 
was to teach the benighted Irish the benefits of re- 
ligion and the blessings of whiskey. Therefore, 
under King Mac Carthy, Druidism was the " estab- 
lished church." One of the most ancient Arch- 
Druids in Munster resided in a cave near Mitchels- 
town, dug by his own hands in one of the Galtee 
Mountains, and to him, in this emergency, King 
Mac Carthy betook himself for advice and aid. 

The Arch-Druid was noted, far and near, as an 
interpreter of dreams, a diviner of auguries, an un 
raveller of mysteries, and a reader of prophecies 
Common rumor declared that he was master of en 
chantments, — that the thunder rolled and the light 
ning flashed at his command, — that he had com 
munion with spirits from another world, and could 
compel them to obey his bidding. 

After the performance of many rites and ceremo- 
nies, some penance and much prayer, the Arch- 
Druid asked the King of Munster whether he knew 
that part of the "West which Ave now call Mayo ? 
Mac Carthy replied that he ought to know it, for 
tie had been brought up there. " Then," said the 
Arch-Druid, "thither we must go. For in one of 
the rivers which run through that district, by tha 



56 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

foot of a lofty mountain, there is a salmon, which- 
if caught, cooked, and eaten, will bestow long Lie 
and health, wisdom and valor, success in arms and 
love, upon him who eats it." 

The King thanked the Arch-Druid for his informa- 
tion, and gave him a liberal largess, when he added 
that in the book of the future it was written that 
this wonderful fish was predestined to be caught by 
his own royal hands. This put him into excellent 
spirits, and he proposed to the Arch-Druid that they 
should "make a night of it," which they did, upon 
mead or metheglin — for, in those days, whiskey had 
not been invented. 

The next day they set off on their fishing-tour. 
The way was long, the roads bad, and travelling 
rather dangerous. But, seating themselves on the 
Arch-Druid's cloak, its wizard-owner muttering a 
few cabalistic words, forthwith they were wafted, 
men and cloak, through the air, on the swift wings 
of the wind, to the precipitous ridge of hills sur- 
rounding the lofty rock now called Croagh Patrick. 
The cloak and its two passengers finally dropped 
down on the bank of the river of which the Arch- 
Druid had spoken. 

They followed the course of the stream through 
one of the most fertile valleys that sunshine ever 
glanced upon, until they reached a dark cavern 
where the struggling waters sink suddenly into the 
earth. No one has yet been able to ascertain whither 



FINN AND THE FISH. 57 

zhe stream finally goes — whether it again rises to the 
•earth — whether it runs through a subterranean 
channel, or is sucked in to quench the Phiegethon 
•of this world's central fires. No one knows — nor 
would it much matter if he did. 

Close by the mouth of this cavern is a dark, deep 
hollow, over which the gloom of eternal night ever 
:seems to rest, and into which the stream falls before 
it sinks into the abyss, whirling in foaming eddies, 
warring as in agony, and casting up a jet of spray 
into the air. Loudly the waters roar as they fall en 
the rugged rock beneath — they are whirled rcund 
and round, until, at regular intervals, they descend 
into the yawning gulf beneath. 

In this pool, among thousands of fishes, of all 
sorts and sizes, was the Salmon of Knowledge, the 
possession of which was to make King Mac Carthy 
amazingly wise, and irresistibly mighty. By this 
pool he sat, in company with the Arch-Druid, day 
after day, for a whole month, until their patience 
was nearly, and their provisions wholly, exhausted. 
They had sport enough to satisfy Izaak Walton 
himself, for they were perpetually catching fish. 
ITiere was a little hut hard by, and in it the King 
and the Arch-Druid alternately officiated as cook. 
Still, though he was latterly on a fish diet, the King 
grew never the wiser. He got so tired of that kind 
of food that historians have gone the length 
•of asserting that even a Hoboken turtle-feed 
3* 



58 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

would have had no charm for his palled appetite* 
Amid the finest fish that Koyalty ever feasted upon, 
he sighed for the white and red of his own fine 
mutton from the green fields of Munster. 

To add to his misfortune, though he wanted only- 
one salmon, fish of all sorts would hook themselves 
on to his line. There was perpetual trouble in tak- 
ing them off the hook. They determined to judge. 
of the salmon, as Lavater did of men, by their looks. 
Therefore the fat and plump fish obtained the dan- 
gerous distinction of being broiled or boiled, while 
the puny ones were thrown back, with the other 
fish, into the water. 

Thus it happened that, one evening at dusk, a lank, 
lean, spent salmon having been caught, they did not 
think it worth cooking, and the King took it up to- 
throw it back into the water. He did not cast it 
far enough, and the poor fish remained on the bank.. 
It was quietly wriggling itself back into its native 
element, when it was espied by a little boy who had 
a special taste for broiled fish. He seized it, took 
it home, made a fire, and set about cooking it. 

This youth was the famous Finn Mac Coul : — but 
he was not famous then. He had fled from the 
South, from some enemies of his family, and, being 
hungry, the salmon, poor and lean as it seemed, was 
better to him than nothing. 

The fire being red, he put the salmon dpon it. 
The poor fish, not quite dead, writhed on the liyc. 



FINN AND THE FISH. 59' 

coals, and the heat caused a great blister to swell 
out upon its side. Finn Mac Coul noticed this, and, 
fearing that the fish would be spoiled if the blister 
were to rise any more, pressed his thumb upon it. 
The heat soon made_him withdraw it. Naturally 
enough, he put it into his mouth to draw out the 
pain. At that moment, he felt a strange thrill 
throughout his whole frame. He was suddenly 
changed in mind. The moment that thumb touched 
his lips he had increase of knowledge. That told 
him that he could do no better than devour the sal 
mon. That done, he was a changed Finn — a new 
and enlarged edition, with additions ; quite a tall 
paper copy. 

That night, Finn Mac Coul quietly strayed down 
to the cavern, and found the King and the Arch- 
Druid at high words. His majesty had dreamed, in 
his afternoon nap, that the Salmon of Knowledge 
had been on. his hook, and that the Arch-Druid had 
coaxed it off, and privily cooked and eaten it. Finn 
told him that the Arch-Druid knew that the salmon 
could be caught only by a King's hand, but had in- 
tended, even before they left Munster, to cook and eat 
it himself, and then to usurp the crown. The Arch- 
Druid, who had a conscience, had not a word of ex- 
planation or excuse. The King immediately ran 
him through the body, and engaged Finn (who, by 
this time, had shot up to the height of twelve feet) 
to lead his armies against the invading King or 



<>0 BITS OF BLARNKV. 

Leinster, and the result was that, so far from con- 
quering Munster, and appropriating the Golden 
Vale, King Mac Murragh was obliged to pray for 
pardon, and to pay tribute to King Mac Carthy, 
who thenceforward, with the aid of Finn Mac Coul'a 
strength of mind and body, wa.^ the most powerful 
of all the monarchs of Ireland. 






THE BKEAKS OF BALLYNASCOKISTEY. 

Contemporary with Finn Mac Coul, was the re- 
nowned giant, called Ossian. There has been a 
question whether he were Scotch or Irish. But as 
Ossian certainly came all the way from Scotland to 
compete with Finn Mac Coul, it is not likely that 
they were countrymen. 

That contest — it was of the description given by 
Ovid of what took place between Ajax and Ulysses. 
Go to that wild and beautiful district near Dublin, 
that patch of mountain scenery, so splendid and ro- 
mantic, known as the Breaks of Ballynascorney and 
learn, as I aid, what tradition now reports of the 
contest between Ossian and Finn Mac Coul. 

A mountain road winds through these Breaks, 
like a huge snake. By the road-side there stands 
a tremendous rock of granite — perfectly isolated. 
Many such are to be seen scattered over the island, 
and the general belief is ; that each column-stone 
marks the spot where some noted warrior had fallen 
in the old contests between the Irish and their Danish 
invaders. A different legend belongs to this rock. 

The day had been beautiful — one of those brilliant 
days of softness and balm so prevalent in Ireland. 
The noontide sun may have been a little too sunny, 

(61) 



€2 HITS OF BLARNEY. 

but this could be remedied by reposing in the pleasant 
shadow of some of the lofty cairns which abound in 
that place. The day gently glided on, until, when a 
summer-shower made the heath glitter with its dia- 
mond drops, we sought shelter in a rustic cabin by 
the wayside. 

No one was within, but an old woman, remarkably 
talkative. She paid us a world of attention — insin- 
uated a world of compliments on the beaming 
oeauty of the fair lady who accompanied me— 
would " engage that one so pretty was not without 
a sweetheart," and, with a smile at myself, "would 
not be long without a husband" — hoped that she 
"" would be happy as the day was long, and live to 
see her great-grand-children at her feet," — was cer- 
tain she was an Irishwoman, "for she had the fair 
face, and the small hand, and the dark blue eye, 
and the long black lash, and the bounding step," and 
prophesied more good fortune than (to one of the 
party, at least) has yet been fulfilled. 

This old woman was a good specimen of a shrewd 
Irish peasant. Her compliments were insinuated, 
rather than expressed ; and, malgre the brogue, I ques- 
tion when more delicate flattery — pleasant, after all, 
to one's amour propre — could be more dexterously 
conveyed in the circles which we call brilliant. This 
tact in the matter of compliment appears intuitive. 

Allusion having been made to the granite column 
,n the neighborhood, our hostess asked whether we 



BLARNEYING t 63 

should like "to know all about it." The answer 
was in the affirmative, and then — happy to hear the 
tones of her own voice, proud of giving information 
to persons above her own station, and in pleased an- 
ticipati.cn of a douceur — she told us a legend which, 
as she was rather prolix, I shall take leave to cjwe 
you in my own words. 



FINN MAO GOULS FIN'GER-STONK. 

f ' UTN Mac Coul went hunting one day on tiie 
Uurragh of Kildare. His sport was indifferent, for 
he brought down only a leash of red deer, and a 
couple of wolves. He came back to his house, on 
the hill of Allen, in such bad spirits, that his wife 
asked him what was the matter, and said that, no 
doubt, he would have better sport another time. 
Heaving a deep sigh, he told her that it was not his 
bad sport that annoyed him, but that news had that 
morning reached him that Ossian, the Scotch giant, 
was coming over to challenge him to a trial of 
strength, and if he lost the day — for he could not 
decline the contest — his credit, and the credit of 
Ireland, would be gone forever. 

At this news, Finn's wife became as low-spirited 
as himself. They sat by the fire, like Witherington, 
" in doleful dumps," and their thoughts were the re- 
verse of happy. 

Suddenly, the lady— for the life of me I cannot 
bring myself to designate her as plain " Mrs. Mac 
Coul" — asked her disconsolate lord and master at 
what time Ossian was expected to arrive? Finn 
told her that the Scottish Hercules had intimated 
his intention of payi ig his visit at noon on the fol- 

(64) 



FINN MAC COUL'S FINGER-STONE. 65 

lowing day. "Oh! then," said she, brightening up, 
" there's no need to despair. Leave all to me, and 
I'll bring you through it like a Trojan. A blot is 
no blot until 'tis entered." This remark, showing at 
once her philosophy and her knowledge of back- 
gammon, was very consolatory to Finn Mac Coub 
who, like men before and since, was rather under 
what is called petticoat government. His mind was 
relieved when his wife saw daylight. 

After breakfast, the next day, Finn (by his wife's 
direction) went into a huge child's-cradle, a feat 
which he had some difficulty in accomplishing 
There he lay, crumpled up uneasily, while she kept 
busy in the kitchen, baking some cake or griddle" 
bread. 

By-and-bye, up came Ossian, who knocked at the 
door, and civilly inquired whether Finn Mac Coul 
lived there, and if he were at home? "No," said 
his wife, "he's gone to the fair of Bartlemy; but I 
am his wife, and, perhaps, I can answer for him." 

"What!" said Ossian, "did not he hear that I, 
Ossian of Scotland, was coming over for a trial of 
strength with him? I hope he does, not mean to 
skulk. Wherever he may be, I shall not return 
home until I see him, and until he feel me." 

When the wife found that Ossian was too far 
North to be put off by a "not at home," she put 
the best face on it, welcomed him to Ireland, hoped 
he had a pleasant passage, and that the tossing on 



66 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

the salt-water did not disagree with him, invited 
him into the house, and said that Finn would soon 
be back, and ready to indulge him in any way he 
pleased. 

Ossian sat down by the fire, quite at his ease. 
He had a great conceit of himself, and was, indeed, 
the strongest man in Europe at that time. He 
noticed the large cakes that were baking in the 
oven, each of them taking two stone weight of flour, 
and asked why she made them of such a size. 
"They are for that little creature in the cradle, 
there," said she, pointing over her shoulder to Finn. 
Then Ossian looked round, and noticed the cradle, 
with Finn in it, and a night-cap on his head, and 
tied under his chin, and he pretending to be fast 
asleep all the time. 

Astonished at the immense bulk, Ossian called 
out, " Who's there? What man is that in the 
cradle?" "Man!" said Finn's wife, with a pleasant 
little laugh, "that's our youngest child. I am 
weaning him now, and I sometimes think the fairies 
have overlooked him, he's so dwarfed and small, and 
does not promise to be half the size of his father and 
li's brothers." 

Ossian never said a word to that; but he could 
not take his eyes off the cradle, thinking, no doubt, 
if the undergrown baby was such a bouncer, what 
;nust the father be. 

By-and-bye, Finn's wife told Ossian that, as he 



FINN MAC CO UL S FINCIER-STONE. 67 

fcad a long journey, and Finn was staying out longer 
than she expected, he might as well take some re- 
freshment, without waiting for him. The cakes 
were nice and brown by this time, and she asked 
.him to break his fast with one of them. He took it, 
:and when he made a bite in it, he roared again with 
pain, for his two best front teeth were broken. 
u Oh!" he cried out, "it is as hard as iron," — and 
so it might be, for she bad put an iron griddle into 
it, and baked it with it in. "Hard?" said she. 
"" Why, that child there would not taste it if it were 
.a bit softer." 

Then she recommended Ossian to wash the pain 
away with a sup of the finest whiskey in the prov- 
ince ; and she fetched a wooden piggin, that would 
liold about a gallon to a gallon and a half, and rilled it 
Xo the brim. Ossian took a long pull at it ; as much as 
a quart or so. Then Finn's wife laughed downright 
•at him for taking so little. " Why," said she, " the 
-child there in the cradle thinks nothing of empty h ig 
that piggin in one draught." So, for shame's sake, 
and because he did not like to be thought a milk-sop, 
Ossian took a little more, and a little more yet, until, 
before long, the liquor got the better of him. 

Now, this was the very pass that the good wife 
wished to bring him to. " While his father is out," 
said she, " and I wonder why he is not home before 
now, may -be you'd like to see the child there throw 
;a stone, or try a fall with you, or do any of the di- 



6 6 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

verting little tricks that his father teaches him.'*" 
Ossian consented, and she went over to the cradle- 
and gave Finn a shake. " Wake up, dear," said she,, 
"and amuse the gentleman." 

So Finn stretched himself, and Ossian wondered 
at his black beard, and his great bulk. " Ton my 
word," said he, "you're a fine child for your age." 
Then, turning to Finn's wife, he asked, "Has he cut 
any of his teeth yet?" She bade him feel his gums. 
Then Ossian put two of his fingers into Finn's 
mouth, and the moment they were there Finn bit 
them to the bone. Ossian jumped round the room 
with pain. "Ah!" said Finn's wife, "you should 
see his father's teeth ; he thinks nothing of biting off 
the head of a two-shilling nail, when he uses it for 
a tooth-pick." 

By this time, Ossian was far from comfortable.. 
But he thought he must put the best face on it; so 
he said to Finn, "Come, my lad, let us see how 
your father teaches you to wrestle." 

Finn did not say a word, but grappled Ossian 
round the waist, and laid him sprawling on the 
ground before he could say " Jack Robinson." 
Ossian picked himself up, very sulkily, and rubbed 
the place that had come in contact with the hard 
floor of the kitchen. 

"Now," said Finn's wife, " may-be you'd like to 
see the child throw a stone." And then Finn went- 
in front of the house, where there w T as a heap of 



FINN MAC COTL'S FINGER-STONE. 69 

great rocks, and he took up the very identi ;al stone 
which now stands in the Breaks of Ballyi ascorey, 
•and flung it all the way from the hill of Al len. To 
this day it bears the marks of Finn's five fingers and 
thumb — for his hand was not like an ordinary hand 
• — when he grasped it; and to this day, also, that 
stone bears Finn's name. 

Ossian wac greatly surprised, as well he might be, 
at such a cast. He asked, " Could your father throw 
such a stone much farther?" — "Is it my lather?" 
said Finn : "faith, he'd cast it all the way to Ame- 
rica, or Scotland, or the Western Injes, and think 
nothing J f,l" 

This was enough for Ossian. He would not ven- 
ture on a trial of strength with the father, when the 
son ecu Id beat him. So he pretended to recollect 
some sudden business that called him back, post- 
haste, to Scotland, thinking he never could get 
■away half quick enough. And the stoiiv lemains 
where Finn threw it, and, if you only go that way, 
any one on or near the Sighau; mountain will show 
you Finn Mac Coul's Finger-Stone. 



IRISH STORIES 



THE PETKIFIED PIPER. 



CHAPTER I. 

WHO THE PIPER WAS. 

Irish Legends almost invariably remind me of 
the Field of Waterloo. When our tourists rushed 
■en masse, to behold the plain on which the destinies 
■of Europe had been decided, they exhibited the 
usual relic-hunting and relic-buying mania. Bullets 
.and helmet ornaments, rusty pistols and broken 
swords, buttons and spurs, and such things — actu- 
ally found on the battle-field — were soon disposed 
of, while of the tourists it might be said, as of the 
host of Dunsinane, " The cry is still ' they come !' " 
.So, the demand exceeding the legitimate supply, 
the Belgian peasantry began to dispose of fictitious 
Telics, and a very profitable trade it was for a long 
time. To this day, they are carefully manufactured, 
"to order," by more than one of the hardware 
makers of Birmingham. 

In the same manner, Irish legends having become 
a marketable commodity (Carleton and Crofton 
Croker, Banim and Grim 1, Lover and Whicty, 

4 |73) 



74. BITS OF BLARNEY. 

having worked the vein deeply), people had re- 
course to invention instead of tradition — like George 
Psalmanazar's History of Formosa, in which fiction 
supplied the place of fact. Very amusing, no doubt; 
but not quite fair. More ingenious than honest. 
Therefore, the Irish story I shall relate, if it 
possesses none other, shall have the merit, at least, 
of being "founded on facts." 
* Fermoy is one of the prettiest towns in Ireland. 
It is not very remote from that very distinguished 
Southern metropolis — of pigs and porter — known as- 
" the beautiful city of Cork." Midway between city 
and town lies Water-grass-hill, a pretty village, lo- 
cated on the highest arable land in Ireland, and now 
immortal as having once been the residence of the 
celebrated Father Prout. Some people prefer the 
country-town to the crowded city: for, though its- 
trade be small, its society rather too fond of scandal, 
its church without a steeple, and its politicians par- 
ticularly intolerant, Fermoy is in the heart of a fertile 
and picturesque tract, and there flows through it that 
noble river, the Blackwater, honorably mentioned by 
Spenser, and honored in later song as the scene where 
might be beheld 

" The trout and the salmon 

A-playing backgammon. 

All on the banks of sweet Castle Hyde." 

The scenery around Fermoy is indeed most beau- 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER 75 

*i .ill, and above all (in more meanings than one) towers 
v 'orrig Thierna — the Lord's rock, commonly spoken, 
c f as Corran — which, to such of the inhabitants as 
have not seen greater elevations, appears a mountain 
mtitled to vie with what they have heard of the Alps, 
Appenines, or Andes. 

Although Fermoy now contains fully seven hun- 
dred houses (exclusive of stables and pigsties), and 
a population of nearly seven thousand souls, men,, 
women, and children — to say nothing of horses, oxen, 
sheep, mules, donkies, cats, dogs, and such other crea- 
tures as have no souls — it was not always so exten- 
sive and populous. 

In every town a high traditional authority is con- 
stantly referred to as " within the memory of the 
oldest inhabitant," and it may be stated, on this 
antique authority, that, not much more than half a 
century since, Fermoy was a very small and obscure 
hamlet, consisting of no more than one little pot- 
house and half a dozen other mud-cabins, luxuriantly 
located, with some ingenuity, so as to enjoy, front 
and rear, a maximum of the morning and afternoon, 
sunshine. These domiciles were ranged in a row 5 
and hence arose the figurative saying, "All on on* 
side, like the town of Fermoy." The energy, ability 
and capital of one man (the late John Anderson, who 
introduced mail-coaches into Ireland), raised the vil- 
lage of Fermoy into a populous and thriving town,, 
which, in 1809, was a merry place — partly owing ix> 



76 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

the mirth whose chief minister was Eemmy Carxol! 
son of old Carroll, the piper. 

As Kemmy is the hero of my tale, it is onty 
proper that I should describe him. Irish parlance 
•emphatically distinguished him as "a mighty clever 
boy," which did not mean a compliment to his ca- 
pacity or acquirements, but was simply a figure of 
speech to declare that this Hibernian Orpheus stood 
about " six feet two in his stocking- vamps." Remmy 
Carroll's personal appearance was not quite as dis- 
tingue as that . of his great contemporary, Beau 
Brummell. His coat, originally of blue frieze, had 
worn down, by age and service, to a sort of bright 
gray, tessellated, like mosaic- work, with emendations 
of the original substance carefully annexed thereto 
by Remmy's own industrious fingers. The garment, 
like the wearer, had known many a fray, and 
Remmy was wont to observe, jocularly, when he 
•sat down to repair these breaches, that then, like a 
man of landed property, he was occupied in " taking 
his rents." 

Care is not very likely to kill a man who can jest 
upon his own poverty. Accordingly, Remmy Car- 
toll was as light-hearted a fellow as could be met 
with in town or country. He was a gentleman ac- 
customed to live how and where he could, ani he 
was welcomed everywhere. It was mentioned, as 
-un undoubted fact, that where men of substance — 
•ricn farmers and thriving shopkeepers — had been 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 77 

very coldly received by bright- eyed angers in petti- 
coats, looks and even words of encouragement had 
Oeen extended to Kemmy Carroll. The fair sex are 
proverbially of a kind nature, especially towards 
young men, who, like Carrol], have handsome fea- 
tures and jocund speech, lofty stature and winnings 
smiles, that symmetry of limb which pleases the eye, 
and that subduing conversation which pleases the- 
ear. What was more, Kemmy Carroll knew very 
well — none better ! — that he was a favorite with the. 
rose-cheeked Venuses of Fermoy and its vicinity. 
It may be mentioned also — as sotto voce as type can 
express it — that he was also perfectly aware that he 
was a very personable fellow, what Coleridge has- 
described as "a noticeable man." Was there ever 
any one, no matter of what age or sex, possessing 
personal advantages, who was not fully aware of the 
fact? 

It would be tedious to expatiate very particularly 
upon the extent and variety of Kemmy Carroll's ac- 
complishments. He followed the hereditary pro- 
fession of his family, and was distinguished, far and 
near, for his really splendid execution on the Irish 
pipes — an instrument which can be made to " dis- 
course most excellent music," and must never be 
confounded with the odious drone of the Scottish 
bag-pipes. Kemmy's performance could almost ex* 
cite the very chairs, tables, and three-legged stoola 
to dance. One set of pipes is worth a dozen fiddles^ 



78 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

for it can "take the shine out of them all" in point 
•of loudness. But then, these same pipes can do 
more than make a noise. The warrior, boldest in 
the field, is gentlest at the feet of his ladye-lcve; 
•and so, the Irish pipes, which can sound a strain al- 
most as loud as a trumpet-call, can also breathe fortL 
^a tide of gushing melody — sweet, soft, and low as 
the first whisper of mutual love. You have never 
felt the eloquent expression of Irish music, if you 
have not heard it from the Irish pipes.* It is quite 
marvellous that, amid all the novelties of instru- 
mentation (if I may coin a word) which are thrust 
Hipon the patient public, season after season — includ- 
ing the Jews'-harping of Eulenstein, the chin-chop- 
ping of Michael Boiai, and the rock-harmonicon of 
'the Derbyshire mechanics — no one has thought of 
exhibiting the melodious performance of an Irish 



* This praise of the Irish pipes is by no means exaggerated. 
The last performer of any note, in Fermoy, was an apothecary, 
named O'Donnell, who certainly could make them discourse 
" most eloquent music." He died about fifteen years ago. It 
was almost impossible to listen with dry eyes and unmoved 
heart to the exquisite manner in which he played the Irish 
melodies — the real ones, I mean — not those which Tom Moore 
And Sir John Stevenson had " adopted" (and emasculated) for 
polite and fashionable piano-forte players and singers. There is 
now in New York a gentleman, named Charles Ferguson, 
whose performance on the Irish pipes may be said to equal — it 
&.*W not surpass — that of O'Donnell. 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 7V 

piper. If lie confined himself to the Irish me*, lies, 
and really were a first-rate performer, he could not 
fail to please, to delight, to astonish. But, again I 
•say, do not confound the sweet harmony of the Irish 
with the drony buzz of the Scotch pipes. 

Kemmy Carroll's accomplishments were not 
limited to things musical. He could out- walk, out- 
run, and out-leap any man in the barony of Condons 
and Clongibbons ; aye, or of any five other baronies 
in the county of Cork, the Yorkshire of Ir^vand. 
lie could back the most vicious horse that ^v v e_ 
dared to rear and kick against human supremacy , 
He had accepted the challenge scornfully given to 
the whole world, by Big Brown of Kil worth, to 
w restle, and had given him four fair falls out of five, 
a matter so much taken to heart by the said Big one, 
that he emigrated to London, where, overcome with 
liquor and loyalty, he was tempted to enlist in an 
infantry regiment, and was shot through the head 
at the storming of Badajoz some short time after. 

Remmy Carroll could do, and had done more than 
defeat Brown. He could swim like a fish, was the 
only man ever known to dive under that miniature 
Maelstrom which eddies at the base of The Nailer's 
Rock (nearly opposite Barnaan Well), and, before 
he was one-and-twenty, had saved nine unfortunates 
from being drowned in the fatal Black water.* 

* There really was a person named Carroll residing in Fermcy 
at the date of this story. He was of gigantic stature and strength. 



<J0 BITS OV BLARNEY. 

JUo man in the county could beat him at hurly,, 
cr foot-ball. He was a crack hand at a faction-fight 
en a fair day — only, as a natural spirit of generosity 
sometimes impelled him, with a reckless chivalry r 
to side with the weaker party, he had, more than 
once, been found magnanimously battling against, 
bis own friends. 

Yet more. — Having had the advantage of three 
years' instruction at Tim Daly's far-famed Acade- 
my, Kemmy Carroll was master of what a farmer,. 



with the mildest temper ever possessed by mortal man. He waa 
noted for his excellence in swimming and his remarkable skill as 
a diver. Whenever any person had been drowned in the Black- 
water, (which runs through Fermoy,) Carroll was sent for, and 
never quitted the river until he had found the body. There is 
one part considered particularly dangerous, opposite Barnaan 
Well, in which a large projection, called the Nailer's Rock, 
shelves out into the water, making an under-current of such 
peculiar strength and danger, that even expert swimmers avoid 
it, from a fear of being drawn within the vortex. Many live* 
have been lost in this fatal eddy, into which Carroll was 
accustomed to dive, most fearlessly, in search of the bodies. 
It was calculated that Carroll had actually saved twenty-two 
persons from being drowned, and had recovered over fifty corpses 
from the river. When he died, which event happened at the 
commencement of the bathing season, a general sorrow fell upon 
all classes in the town of Fermoy, and for several weeks no one 
ventured into the river. It was as if their guardian and safe- 
guard had departed. In my youth passed on the banks of the 
Blackwater, there was a belief that whenever one person was 
drowned in that river, two others were sure to follow, in thfr 
tame season. 






THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 81 

more alliterative than wise, called " the mys* 
teiy of the three R's : — Reading, 'Kiting, am* 
'Rithmetic." He knew, by the simple taste, when 
the Potheen was sufficiently " above proof." He 
had a ten-Irishman power of love-making, and while 
the maidens (with blushes, smiles, and softly-simi 
lated' angers) would exclaim, "Ah, then, be done, 
Remmy! — for a deluder as ye are!" there usually 
was such a sly intelligence beaming from their bright, 
eyes, as assured him that he was not unwelcome; 
snd then he felt it his duty to kiss them into perfect 
good-humor and forgiveness. — But I am cataloguing 
Lis accomplishments at too much length. Let it 
Mimce to declare, that Remmy Carroll was confess- 
edly the Admirable Crichton of the district. 

He was an independent citizen of the world — for 
he had no particular settled habitation. He was a 
popular character — for every habitation was open 
to him, from Tim Mulcahy's, who lived with his 
T »vife and pig, in a windowless mud-cabin, at the 
£*ot of Corran, to Mr. Bartle Mahony's two-story 
■slated house, on a three hundred acre farm, at Car- 
ngabrick, on the banks of the Blackwater. At th6 
latter abode of wealth, however, Remmy Carroll had 
not lately called. 

Mr. Bartholomew Mahony — familiarly called 

"Barlle" — was a man of substance. Had he lived 

now, ne might have sported a hunter for himself) 

and set up a jaunting-car for his daughter. But tha 

4* 



82 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

honest, well-to-do farmer had at once too much 
pride and sagacity to sink into the Squireen. He 
was satisfied with his station in life, and did not 
aspire beyond it. He was passing rich in the world's 
eye. Many, even of the worldlings, thought less of 
his wealth than of his daughter, Mary. Of all who 
admired, none loved her half so well as poor Eemmy 
Carroll, who loved the more deeply, because very 
hopelessly, inasmuch as her wealth and his own 
poverty shut him out from all reasonable prospect 
of success. He admired— nay, that is by far too 
weak a word : he almost adored her, scarcely daring 
to confess, even to his own heart, how closely her 
image was blended with the very life of his being. 

Mary Mahony was an Irish beauty; that most 
indescribable of all breathing loveliness, with dark 
hair, fair skin, and violet eyes, a combination to 
which the brilliant pencil of Maclise has often ren- 
dered justice. She had a right to look high, in a 
matrimonial way, for she was an heiress in her own 
right. She had £500 left her as a legacy by an old 
maiden-aunt, near Mitchelstown, who had taken 
care of her from her twelfth year, when she left the 
famous Academy of the renowned Tim Daly (where 
she and Eemmy used to write together at the same 
desk), until some eight months pre^dous to the date 
of this authentic narrative, when the maiden-aunt 
died, bequeathing her property, as aforesaid, to 
Mary Mahony, who thsn returned to her father. 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 83 

With all her good fortune, including the actual 
<of the legacy, and the ideal of inheritance to her 
father's property— with beauty sufficient to have 
toned the head of any other damsel of eighteen, 
Mary Mahony was far from pride or conceit. She 
had the lithest form and the most graceful figure in 
the world, but many maidens, with far less means, 
wore much more showy and expensive apparel 
Her dark hair was plainly braided off her white 
brow, in bands, in the simplest and most graceful 
manner ; while, from beneath, gleamed orbs so 
beautiful, that one might have said to her, in the 
words of John Ford, the dramatist, 

" Once a young lark 
Sat on thy hand, and gazing on thine eyes, 
Mounted and sung, thinking them moving skies." 

The purple stuff gown (it was prior to the inven- 
tion of merinos and muslins-de-laine), which, in its 
close fit, exhibited the exquisite beauty of her form, 
and set off, by contrast, the purity of her complexion, 
was also a within-doors article of attire : when she 
went out, she donned a long cloak of fine blue cloth, 
with the sides and hood neatly lined with pink 
sarsnet. Young and handsome Irish girls, in her 
rank of life, were not usually satisfied, at that time, 
with a dress so quiet and so much the reverse of 

gay. 

But Mary Mahony's beauty required nothing to 



84 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

set it off. I do not exaggerate when I bay that it 
was literally dazzling. I saw her twenty years after 
the date of this narrative, and was even then struck 
with admiration of her matured loveliness; — how 
rich, then, must it have been in the bud ! 

Mary, as Eemmy Carroll said before he knew that 
he loved her — for then, he never breathed her name- 
to mortal ear, — was "the moral of a darling creature, 
only t' would be hard to say whether she was most, 
good or handsome." Her hair, as I have said, was 
dark (light tresses are comparatively rare in Ireland), 
and her eyes were of so deep a blue that nine out 
of ten on whom they glanced mistook them for 
black. Then, too, the long lashes veiling them, 
and the lovely cheek ("oh, call it fair, not pale"), on. 
which their silky length reposed, — and the lips so red 
and pouting, and the bust whose gentle heavings. 
were just visible behind the modest kerchief which 
covered it, — and the brow white as snow (but neither 
too high nor too prominent), — and the fingers tapering 
and round, and the form lithe and graceful, — and the 
feet small and well-shaped, and the nameless air 
which gave dignity and grace to every motion of 
this country-girl ! Oh, beautiful was Mary Mahony, 
beautiful as the bright image of a poet's dream, the 
memory of which shadows he forth in the verse 
which challenges immortality in the minds of men. 

The cor.tour of her face was neither Roman, nor 
Grecian, 1 or Gothic ; — it was essentially Irish, and 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 80 

I defy you to find a finer. The only drawback (tor 
I must be candid) was that her nose had somewhat — 
just the slightest — of an upward inclination. This, 
which sometimes lent a sort of piquancy to what 
would otherwise have been quite a Madonna-like 
face, only made her not too handsome ; at least, so 
thought her admirers. Lastly, she had a voice as 
•sweet as ear ever loved to listen to. No doubt, it 
had the distinguishing accents of her country, but 
with her, as with Scott's Ellen, they were 

• " Silvery sounds, so soft, so dear, 
The listener held his breath to hear." 



CHAPTER II. 

WHAT THE PIPER DID. 

It was in the summer of 1809, that, for the first 
time since both of them were children and school- 
mates, Remmy Carroll spoke to Mary Mahony. 
Often had he seen her at the dance, which without 
ibis aid could not be, but in which, al&s, he could 
not join — a dancing piper being almost as anomalous 
•as a hunting archbishop ! Often had he admired the 
natural grace of her movements. Often had he been 
struck by the bewitching modesty of mien and mo- 
tion which had the power of suddenly changing the 



86 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

rakish, rollicking gallantry of her followers (for she- 
was a reigning toast) into a most respectful homage* 
Often had he noticed her at chapel, whither she came- 
to pray, while others flaunted and gazed as if they 
had come only to see and to be seen. Often had he 
followed her very footsteps, at a distance — for the 
very ground on which she trod was hallowed to this- 
humble lover — but never yet had he dared to hope. 

The shortest way from Fermoy to Carrigabrick 
Is by the banks of the Blackwater, and this way, on 
Whitsunday, 1809, was taken by Mary Mahony and 
a merry younger cousin of hers on their homeward 
route. There are stiles to be crossed, and deep 
drains to be jumped over, and even a pretty steep 
wall to be climbed. 

Bern my Carroll, who knew that they would thus- 
return home, had followed the maidens afar off, — 
sighing to think, as they crossed the stiles, with a 
world of gentle laughter, that he must not dare ta 
think of proffering them any assistance. With 
all his love — perhaps, indeed, because of it — he had' 
hitherto been careful to avoid the chance of even a 
casual notice from the subject of his untold passion. 
She was wealthy, he was poor; and, therefore, he 
shrunk from the object of his unuttered passion. 
Her feelings towards him at this time were rather 
kind than otherwise. She knew, what all the parish 
were unacquainted with, that Kemnry devoted the- 
greater portion of his earnings, not only to the sup- 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 87 

port of a bed-ridden old aunt, who had neither kith 
nor kin save himself in the wide world, but ever, to 
the procuring for her what might be esteemed rather 
as luxuries than mere comforts. Whatever might 
be the deficiencies in Remmy Carroll's wardrobe, his 
old aunt never went without "the raking cup of tay" 
morning and evening. Was it because she had no- 
ticed how carefully Remmy Carroll avoided her, that 
the bright eyes of Mary Mahony rested upon him 
with some degree of interest, and that she even liked 
to listen to and encourage her father's praises of his 
conduct towards his aged relative, for whose com- 
fortable support he sacrificed dress — the natural vent 
for youthful vanity in both sexes ? 

Mary and her merry cousin went on, through the 
fields, until they reached the most difficult pass. 
This was a deep chasm separating two meadows. 
A deep and rapid stream flowed through the abyss, 
whirlingly pouring its strong current into the Black- 
water, The maidens lightly and laughingly tripped 
down the steps which were rudely cut on the side of 
the chasm. It was but a quick, short jump across 
Hark ! — a sudden shriek ! He cleared the « r ali at a 
bound — he dashed across the meadow — in one min- 
ute he was plunging down the abyss. He saw that 
Mary'?, cousin had safely reached the other side, 
where she stood uselessly wringing her hard*, and 
screaming in an agony of despair, while Marv ('pre- 
cipitate'], into the deep and swollen stream, ner foct 



88 BITS OF BLAKNEY. 

having slipped) was in the act of being hurried id to 
the eddies of the Blackwater. There was no tin id 
for delay. He plunged into the stream, dived for 
the body, which had just then sunk again, and, ir 
"fess ti:ue than I have taken to tell it, had placed his 
insensible but still lovely treasure trove on the banx: 
which ne just quitted. The other maiden no sooner 
saw that her cousin had been rescued than — accord- 
ing to womanly custom in such cases, I presume — 
she immediately swooned away, leaving poor Eemmr 
to take care of Mary Mahony. 

With the gentlest care he could employ, he 
exerted his best skill to restore her, and, in a short 
time, had the Inexpressible delight of seeing her 
open her eyes. It was but for a moment; she 
glanced wildly around, and again closed them 
Soon the bloom returned to her cheek — and now sne 
leit, though she saw not, that she lay supported m 
'.ne arms of Eemmy Carroll ; for, as he leant over 
ner, and her breathing came softly and balmily 
*»j.>on his face, his lips involuntarily were pressed to 
Ivi* ot^ the maiden, through whose frame that. 
^tOxox. eiriDrace thrilled, with a new and bewildering 
jensation, might be forgiven, if, at that moment, she 
intuitively knew who had thus brushed the dewy 
°weetness from her lips ; might be forgiven, if, iroin 
that epoch, there gushed into her heart a feeling 
more kind, more deep, more pervading, than ordi- 
nary gratitude. 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER* 89 

By this time, the pretty cousin had thought proper 
to recover ; nor has it yet been accurately ascertained 
whether, indeed, she had or had not beheld the os- 
cular proceeding which I have mentioned. Now, 
however, she hastened to pay the feminine attentions, 
more suitable to the situation of a half-drowned 
young lady, than those which Kemmy Carroll had 
attempted to bestow. He had the satisfaction, how- 
ever, of carefully taking Mary Mahony across the 
stream in his arms. Nay, before he departed, she 
had softly whispered her gratitude ; and in her tone 
and manner, there was that which breathed hope to 
him, even against hope. Though he quitted them, 
he loitered about while they remained in sight, and 
just as Mary Mahony was vanishing through the 
stile which opened into her father's lands, she turned 
round, saw her deliverer watching her at a distance, 
and she kissed her hand to him as she withdrew. 

From that hour the current of his life flowed on 
with a fresher bound — the fountain of hope welled 
-out its sparkling waters, for the first time, from its 
depths. To the world — to no living soul, would he 
have dared to avow his new-born feeling, that Mary 
Mahony might one day 'be his own. Within his 
heart of hearts it lay, and with it was the conscious- 
ness, that to win her he must merit her. How, he 
knew not ; but the resolve is much. 

Three months glided on. Carroll continued to 
pursue his calling as a music-maker, and not a wed- 



90 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

ding nor christening passed by, or, indeed, could 
pass 03^, without the assistance of his "professional"' 
powers. But he now became what a young and gay 
Irishman seldom is — a hoarder of his earnings. He 
laid aside much of the wild and reckless mirth which, 
had made him, despite his poverty, the king of good 
fellows. Kemmy was, in many respects, above the 
generality of his class ; for he had got a tolerably 
good education ; he was quick at repartee, and not. 
without a certain manly grace of manner ; his con- 
versation was never garnished with expletives ; he 
had a good voice, and could sing with considerable- 
effect ; he was an adept in fairy lore and romantic 
legends ; and he was accustomed to retail news from 
the newspapers to a wondering auditory, so that the- 
marvel was how he could be " such a janius entirely." 
Hence his popularity with ail classes. But now, as- 
I have said, he laid aside all mirth that might in- 
volve outlay. His manners became sedate, almost 
grave, — nay, if we dared to apply such high words- 
to a man of such low degree as an Irish piper, it 
might be added, that a certain degree of quiet dignity 
became blended with his speech and actions. Like 
the wedding guest described by Coleridge, he 
seemed " a sadder and a wiser man." Such a change 
could not pass unobserved, and while one-half the 
circle of his acquaintance shook their heads, and 
ominously whispered, "Sure the boy must be fairy- 
struck," the fairer moiety suggested that the altera- 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 91 

tiori jucizi have been produced by Love, though 
even iiieir sagcicity and observation failed to ascer- 
tain me object of his passion. 



CHAPTER III. 
HOW THE PIPER GOT ON WITH MARY MAHONY. " 

The aim and the result of Remmy Carroll's- 
newly-acquired habits of economy and self-denial 
became evident, at length, when his appearance, 
one Sunday, in the Chapel of Fermoy — it was the 
Old Chapel, with mud walls and a thatched roof, 
which stood in that part of Cork Hill whence now 
diverges the narrow passage called Waterloo Lane — 
caused a most uncommon sensation. It was Remmy's- 
first appearance, on any stage, in the character of a 
country -beau. His ancient coat was put into Schedule 
A (like certain pocket-boroughs in the Reform Bill), 
and was replaced by a garment from the tasty hands 
of Dandy Cash, at that time the Stultz of Fermoj 
and its vicinity. This was a broad-skirted coat c; 
blue broadcloth, delicately embellished with the bril- 
liancy of shining gilt buttons, each not much largei 
than a half-dollar. A vest of bright yellow kersey- 
mere, with a double-row of plump mother-of-pear. 
studs ; a new pair of closely-fitting unmentionable^. 



BITS OF BLARNEY. 

■with a liberal allowance of drab ribbons pensile *u 
ine knees: gray worsted stockings, of the rig-and- 
f arrow sort, displaying the muscular calf and the 
arched instep ; neat pumps, with soles not quite 
half an inch thick, and the uppers made "elegant" 
by the joint appliances of lampblack and grease 
•(considered to nourish the leather much better than 
" Warren's jet blacking, the pride of mankind") ; — 
a well-fitting shirt of fine bandle-linen, bleached to 
•an exquisite whiteness, and universally looked upon 
as a noli me tangere of provincial buckism, with a silk 
■grinder "round his nate neck," and a tall Carlisle hat. 
encircled with an inch- wide ribbon — such were the 
component parts of Kemmy Carroll's new costume. 
True it is, that he left a little too much to the taste 
of Dandy Cash, the dogmatic and singularly conceited 
Snip ; bat still, Nature had done so much for him 
that he appeared quite a new man, the handsomest 
of the whole congregation, gentle or simple, and many 
a bright glance fell upon him admiringly, from eyes 
which had looked scorn at his chrysalis condition; 
and not a few fair bosoms flattered at the thought, 

what a fine, handsome, likely boy is Kemmy Car- 
Toll, now that he is dressed dacent." He wa i not the 
first man whose qualifications have remained unac- 
knowledged until such an accident as fine apparel 
has brought them into notice. 

Mary Mahony was at Chapel on that Sunday when 
Kemmy Carroll shone out, like the sun emerging from 



TEE PETKIFIED PIPER. 9$ 

behind a rack of heavy clouds. A casual " ooker-on 
might have fancied that she was one of the very few 
who did not mind Kemmy Carroll. Indeed, she- 
rather hung down her head, as she passed him, — 
but that might have been to hide the blushes which, 
suffused her face when she met his eye. Her father,, 
a kind-hearted man, who had a cordial salute for 
every friend, insisted that they should not hurry 
away without speaking to the piper. Accordingly, 
they loitered until nearly all the congregation had 
left the chapel, and, among the last, Kemmy Carroll 
was quietly stealing away. Bartle Mahony accosted 
him, with a hearty grasp of the hand, and warmly 
thanked him for having saved Mary's life, adding, 
"It is not until now I'd be waiting to thank you, 
man-alive, but Mary never let me know the danger 
she'd been in, until this blessed morn, when her 
cousin, Nancy Doyle, made me sensible of the ins 
and outs of the accident. But I do thank you. 
Kemmy, and 'twill go hard with me if I don't find 
a better way of showing it than by words, whicn 
are only breath, as one may say." 

Then Bartle Mahony slapped Kemmy on the back,, 
in a familiar manner, and insisted that he should 
walk home with them and take share of their dinner. 
" Don't hang down your head like a girl, but tuck 
Mary under your arm, and off to Carrigabrick, where 
I follow in less than no time, with the heartiest of 



"94 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

welcomes. Don't dawdle there, man-alive, like a 
goose, but walk off like a man." 

So through the town of Fermoy did Mary Ma 
hony walk with Remmy Carroll — down Cork Hill 
.and King-street, and across the Square, and along 
Artillery -quay, and by Skelhorne's paper-mill, and 
JReid's flour-mill, and then, on the Inches, by the 
Biackwater. History has not recorded whether 
Mary did actually take Remmy's arm — but it is 
conjectured that he was too shy to offer it, deeming 
that too great a liberty — but it is said that it was she 
who took the field-route to Carrigabrick ; and, though 
•she blushed deeply the while, she did not make any 
very violent objection to his taking her in his arms 
.across that chasm, the passage of which, on a former 
day, had so nearly proved fatal to her. If I said 
that, while . performing this pleasant duty, Remmy 
'Carroll did not press her to his heart, I am pretty 
sure that no one would believe me. Well, then, 
there was this gentle pressure, but of course Mary 
Mahony believed he could not help it. — Do you 
think he could ? 

They proceeded to Carrigabrick, but the short cut 
through the fields proved the longest way round on 
this occasion. Bartle Mahony had reached the 
house fully half an hour before they did, and yet he 
had gone by the road, which, as every one knows, 
is nearly a mile round. They had exchanged few 
words during their walk ; it was not quite the lady's 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 95 

place to make conversation, and Remmy's thoughts 
were all too deep for utterance. In the earlier stage 
of love, passion is contemplative, and silence often 
has an eloquence of its own. 

Kemmy Carroll had the good fortune to win the 
particular favor of Mr. Bartle Mahony, who, as he 
was retiring to rest, kissed his fair child, as usual, 
and emphatically declared that Kemmy Carroll was 
u a real decent fellow, and no humbug about him.'' 
lie added, that as he had found his way to their 
hearth, he must be a stranger no more. And it 
came to pass, thenceforth, somehow or other, that 
Remmy paid a visit to Carrigabrick twice or thrice a 
week. These visits were ostensibly to Mr. Mahony, 
but it usually happened that Eemmy had also a 
glimpse of Mary, and sometimes a word or two with 
her. It came to pass that Bartle Mahony, at length, 
fancied that a dull day in which he did not see his 
friend Remmy. Finally, as by a great effort of in- 
genuity, and in order to have a legitimate excuse for 
having his favorite frequently with him, Bartle 
Mahony announced his sovereign will and pleasure 
that Mary should learn music. Accordingly, when 
Remmy next came, he communicated this intention 
to him in a very dignified manner, and appointed 
Remmy forthwith to commence instructing her. But 
Remmy .could play only upon one instrument, and 
the pipes happen to be so unfeminine, that he ven- 
tured to doubt whether the young lady would quite 



96 BITS OF BLABNEY. 

approve of the proposition. Having hinted this 
difficulty to Bartle Mahony ; that worthy was im- 
pressed with its force, but, rather than relinquish his 
project, declared that, all things considered, he- 
thought it best that he himself should be the musical 
tyro. 

If the truth were known, it would have appeared 
that the poor man had no desire to learn, and cer- 
tainly no taste. But as Kemmy Carroll, proud as he 
was poor, had peremptorily refused the money 
offered as a substantial mark of gratitude for having 
saved Mary Mahony's life, this was her father's in- 
direct and rather clumsy mode of rewarding him. 
Yery magnificent were the terms which he insisted 
on making with the piper: he could have been 
taught flute, harp, violin, psaltery, sackbut, and 
piano at less cost. Very little progress did the kind 
old man make, but he laughed soonest and loudest 
at his own dulness and discords. However, if the 
pupil did not make good use of his time, the teacher 
did. Before the end of the first quarter, Mary 
Mahony had half confessed to her own heart with 
what aptitude she had involuntarily taken lessons in 
the art of love. 

It would make a much longer story than I have 
the conscience to inflict upon you, to tell how Mary 
Mahony came to fall in love with Bemmy Carroll — 
for fall in love she certainly did. Perhaps it was 
out of gratitude. Perhaps it might hare been his 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 97 

fine person and handsome face. Perhaps, because 
she heard every girl of her acquaintance praise him. 
Perhaps, because he was her father's favorite. Per- 
haps, because they were so constantly thrown to- 
gether, and he was the only young man with whom 
she frequently associated. Perhaps she loved him, 
because she could not help it. Why strive fco find 
a reason for woman's love? It is like a mighty 
river springing up one knows not where — augmented 
one knows not how — ever sweeping onward, some- 
times smoothly, sometimes in awful rapids, and 
bearing on its deep and constant current, amid weeds 
and flowers, rocks and sands, many a precious 
freight of hope and heart, of life and love. 

Fathers and husbands are so proverbially the v^ry 
last to see the progress which Love clandestinely 
makes under their roof, that it will not be considered 
a special miracle, if Bartle Mahony noticed nothing 
of the game which was in hand — hearts being 
trumps ! Mary's merry cousin, Nancy Boyle, 
quietly smiled at the flirtation, as "fine fun," but 
did not seriously see why it should not end in a 
wedding, as Mary had fortune enough for both. 

Winter passed away, and Spring waved her flag 
of emerald over the rejoicing world. Mary Mahony 
was walking in one of her father's meadows, for 
Remniy Carroll was expected, and he was now — 
though she blushed with a soft consciousness — the 
very pole-star of her constant thought. He came 
5 






VS BITS OF BLARNEY. 

up, and was welcome 1 with, as sweet a sm ie as ever 
scattered sunshine over the human heart. They 
walked side by side for a little time, and then, when 
the continued silence became awkward, Kemmy 
stated, for the maiden's information, what she knew 
very well before, that it was very fine weather. 

" True for you, Remmy," answered she : " see 
how beautiful everything looks. The sunbeams 
fall upon the meadow in a soft shower of light, and 
make the very grass look glad." 

" It is beautiful," said Remmy, with a sigh, " but 
I have too heavy a heart to look upon these things 
as you do." 

" Surely," inquired Mary, " surely you've no real 
cause to say that? Have you heard any bad 
news?" 

" No cause !" and here the pent-up feelings of his 
heart found utterance : " Is it no cause ? — Oh, Mary 
dear — for you are dear to me, and I may say it now, 
for may be I may never be here to say it again — is 
it no cause to have a heavy heart, when I have no- 
body in this wide world that I can speak to about 
her that's the very life of my life, while I know that 
I am nothing to her, but one that she sees to-day 
and will forget to-morrow I Is it no cause, when I 
know that the little linnet that's now singing on 
that bough, has as much chance of becoming an 
eagle, as I have of being thought lovingly of by the 
one that I love ? Haven't I cause to be of a heavy 



THE PETKIFIED PIPER. 99 

iheart, knowing that I would be regard ed no more 
than that little bird, if I were to try and fly beyond 
the state I'm in, when I know that I am not many 
removes from a beggar, and have been for months 
•dreaming away as if I was your equal? You are 
kind and gentle, and when I am far away, perhaps 
you may think that I would have tried to deserve 
you if I could, and then think well of one who 
loves you better than he loves himself. Oh, Mary 
Mahony ! may God's blessing rest upon you, and 
keep you from ever knowing what it is to love 
without hope." 

Overcome by his emotion — aye, even to tears, 
which flowed down his comely cheeks — poor Eemmy 
suddenly stopped. Mary Mahony, surprised at the 
unexpected but not quite unpleasing matter of his 
address, knew not, for a brief space, what answer 
to make. But she was a woman — a young and lov- 
ing one — so she let her heart speak from its fulness. 

" May -be," said she, with a blush, which made 
her look more beautiful than ever, — "may-be, tis a 
foolish thing, Eemmy, to love without hoping;" and 
she looked at him with an expressive smile, which, 
unfortunately, he was unable to distinguish through 
the tears which were now chasing each other down 
his face, as round and nearly as large as rosary- 
beads. 

" It's of no use," he said, not perceiving the na- 
ture of her words ; " it's of no use trying to banish 

LOFC. 



100 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

you from my mind. I've put a penance on myseL. 
for daring to think of yon, and it's all of no use. 
The more I try not to think, the more I find my 
thoughts upon you. I try to forget you, and as I 
walk in the fields, by day, you come' into my mind, 
and when I sleep at night you come into my dreams.. 
Wherever I am, or whatever I do, you are beside 
me, with a kind, sweet smile. Every morning of 
my life, I make a promise to my heart that I will 
never again come here to look upon that smile, far- 
too sweet and too kind for such as me, and yet my 
steps turn towards you before the day is done. But 
it'_ all of no use. I must quit the place altogether. 
I will go for a soldier, and if I am killed in battle, 
as I hope I may be, they will find your name, Mary, 
written on my heart." 

To a maid who loved as well as Mary Mahony- 
did, there was a touching pathos in the simple 
earnestness of this confession; — aye, and eloquence, 
too, for surely truth is the living spirit of eloquence. 
How long she might -have been inclined to play the 
coquette I cannot resolve, but the idea of her lover's, 
leaving her put all finesse to flight, and she said, in 
a low tone, which yet found an echo, and made a 
memory in his heart : " Eemmy ! dear Kemmy, you: 
must not leave me. If you go, my heart goes with 
you, for I like you, poor as you are, better than the- 
richest lord in the land, with his own weight of gold, 
and jewels on his back." 



THE PETKIFIED PIPER. 101 

"What more she might have said puzzles conjec- 
ture — for these welcome words were scarcely spoken, 
when all further speech was arrested by an ardent 
kiss from Eemmy. Oh ! the first, fond kiss of mu- 
tual love ! what is there of earth with so much oi 
the soft and gentle balm of heaven ? 

There they stood, by the ruins of that old castle, 
the world all forgot. There they whispered, each to 
each, that deep passion with which they had so long 
been heart-full. The maiden had gentle sighs and 
pleasant tears — but these last, Kemmy gallantly 
lassed away. Very wrong, no doubt, for her to 
have permitted him to do so, and, in truth, she 
sometimes exhibited a shadow of resistance. There 
was, in sooth, 

" A world of whispers, mixed with low response, 
Sweet, short, and broken, as divided strains 
Of nightingales." 

"And you won't think the worse of me, Kemmy, 
for being so foolish as to confess how I love you?" 

"Is it me, life of my heart ? not unless you say 
that it was foolish to love me. Sure, they were the 
happiest words I ever heard." 

"And you will love me always, even as now?" 

"Ah, Mary, I see that you are joking now." 

"And .you won't go as a soldier?" 

" Not I, darling ; let those who have heavy hearts, 
and no hope, do that same." 



102 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Much more was spoken, no doubt. Very tender 
confessions and confidences, in truth, which I care 
not to repeat, for such are of the bright holidays of 
youth and love, and scarcely bear to be reported as. 
closely as an oration in the Senate, or a lawyer's- 
harangue at Nisi Prius, in a case of Breach of Promise. 
Such tender confessions and confidences resemble 
those eastern flowers which have a sweet perfume 
on the soil to which they are native, but lose the 
fragrance if you remove them to another clime. 

At last, with many a lingering "one word more," 
many a gentle pressure of the hands, and several 
very decided symptoms, belonging to the genus 
"kiss," in the sweet botany of love, Mary and 
Kemmy parted. Happy, sweetly and sadly happy 
(for deep love is meditative, rather than joyful), 
Mary Mahony returned home. She hastened to that, 
apartment peculiarly called her own, threw herself 
on the bed, and indulged in the luxury of tears, for 
it is not Sorrow alone that seeks relief in tears, — 
they fall for hope fulfilled as truly, though less often,, 
as for hope deferred. Weep on, gentle girl, weep in 
joy, while you can. Close at hand is the hour in 
which, ere you have done more than taste it, the 
sparkling draught of happiness may be snatched 
from your lips. 






THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 103 

CHAPTER IY. 

HOW THE PIPER BECAME A PETRIFACTION". 

Alike delighted and surprised at thus finding Mary 
Mahony a sharer in the emotions which so wildly filled 
his own heart, Kemmy Carroll returned to Fermoy, 
m that particular mood which is best denoted by 
the topsy-turvy description — "he did not know 
whether he stood upon his head or his heels." He 
rested until evening at a friend's, and was not un 
willing to have some hours of quiet thought before 
he again committed himself to commerce with the 
busy world. About dusk, 'he started with his friend 
for a farmer's, on the Kathcormac side of Corran 
Thierna, where there was to be a wedding thai 
night, at which Kemmy and his pipes would be al- 
most as indispensable as the priest and the bride- 
groom. 

As they were passing on the mountain's base, 
taking the soft path on the turf, as more pleasant 
than the dusty highway, a little lower down, Eemmy 
suddenly stopped. 

"There's music somewhere about here," said he, 
listening. 

" May -be it's only a singing in your head," ob- 
served Pat Minahan. I've known such things, 



104 BITS OF BLAKJSTET. 

'specially if one had been taking a drop extra over- 
night." 

"Hush!" said Kemmy, " I hear it again as dis- 
tinctly as ever I heard the sound of my own pipes. 
There 'tis again: how it sinks and swells on the 
evening breeze!" 

Minahan paused and listened; "Sure enough, 
then, there is music in the air. Oh, Kemmy Car- 
roll, 'tis you are the lucky boy, for this must be 
fairy music, and 'tis said that whoever hears it first, 
as you did, is surely born to good luck." 

" Never mind the luck," said Kemmy, with a 
laugh. "There's the fairy ring above there, and 
I'll be bound that's the place it comes from. There's 
fox-glove, you see, that makes night-caps for them ; 
and there's heath-bells that they have for drinking- 
cups ; and there's sorrell that they have for tables, 
when the mushrooms aren't in ; and there's the green 
grass within the ring, as smooth as your hand, and 
as soft as velvet, for 'tis worn down by their little 
feet when they dance in the clear light of the full 
moon. I am sure the music came from that fairy -ring. ' ' 

" May-be it does," replied Minahan, "and may-be 
it doesn't. If you please, I'd rather move on, than 
stand here like a pillar of salt, for 'tis getting dark, 
and fairies aren't exactly the sort of people I'd like 
to meet in a lonely place. 'Twas somewhere about 
here, if I remember right, that Phil Connor, the 
piper, hr.d a trial of skill with the fairies, as to who'd 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 105 

play best, and they turned him. into stone, pipes and 
all. It happened, Eemmy, before your father came 
to these parts, — but, surely you heard of it before 
now?" 

" Not I," said Eemmy ; " and if I did, I wouldn't 
heed it." 

" Oh, then," said his companion, with an ominous 
shake of the head at Eemmy 's incredulity, "it's all 
as true as that you're alive and kicking at this 
blessed moment. I heard my mother tell it when I 
was a boy, and she had the whole of it from her 
aunt's cousin's son, who learned the ins and outs of 
the story from a fay male friend of his, who had it on 
■'the very best authority. Phil Connor was a piper, 
-and a mighty fine player entirely. As he was com- 
ing home from a wedding at Eathcormac, one fine 
moonshiny night, who should come right forenenst 
him, on this very same mountain, but a whole 
"bundle of the fairies, singing, and skipping, and dis- 
coursing like any other Christians. So, they up and 
axed him, in the civilest way they could, if he'd 
•favor them with a planxty on his pipes. Now, let- 
ting alone that Phil was as brave as a lion, and 
would not mind facing even an angry woman, let 
alone a batch of hop-o'-my-thumb fairies, he never 
had the heart to say no when he was civilly axed 
to do anything. 

"So Phil said he'd oblige them, with all the veins 
of his heart. With that, he struck up that fine* 
5* 



106 BITS OF BLARNE1. 

ancient onld tune, 'The Fox-hunter's Jig.' And, 
to be sure and bartain, Phil was the lad that could 
play : — no offence to you, Kemmy, who are to the 
fore. The moment the fairies heard it, they all be- 
gan to caper, and danced here and there, backward 
and forward, to and fro, just like the motes you see- 
dancing in the sunbeams, between you and the light. 
At last, Phil stopped, all of a sudden, and they 
gathered round him, the craturs, and asked him why 
he did not go on ? And he told them that 'twas 
dying with the drought he was, and that he must 
have something to wet his whistle : — which same is 
only fair, particularly as far as pipers is concerned. 
" 'To be sure,' said a knowledgeable ould fairy,, 
that seemed king of them all, l it's but reasonable 
the boy is ; get a cup to comfort him, the dacent 
gossoon.' So they handed Phil one of the fairy's- 
fingers full of something that had a mighty pleasant 
smell, and they filled a hare-bell cup of the same for- 
the king. ' Take it, me man,' said the ould fairy,. 
1 there isn't a headache in a hogshead of it. I war- 
rant that a guager's rod has never come near it. 
'Twas made in Araglyn, out of mountain barley, — 
none of your taxed Parliament stuff, but real Queen's 
'lixir.' Well, with that he drank to Phil, and Phil 
raised the little dawny measure to his lips, and,, 
though it was not the size of a thimble, he drank at 
laste a pint of spirits from it, and when he took it 
away from his lips, that I mightn't, if 'twasn't as ftdl. 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 107 

as 'twas at first. Faith, it gave Phil the boldness of 
a lion, that it did, and made him so that he'd do 
anything. And whtit w-as it the omadhaun did, but 
challenge the whole box and dice of the iairies to 
beat him at playing the pipes. Some of them, 
which had tender hearts, advised him not to try. 
But the more they tried to persuade him. the more 
he would not be persuaded. So, as a wilful man 
must have his way, the fairies' piper came forward, 
and took up the challenge. Phil and he played 
against each other until the cock crew, when the lot 
all vanished into a cave, and whipped Phil away 
with them. And, because they were downright 
mad, at last, that Phil should play so much better 
than their own musicianer, they changed poor Phil,, 
out of spite, into a stone statute, which remains in 
the cave to this very day. And that's what hap- 
pened to Phil Connor and the fairies." 

" You've made a pretty story of it," said Kemmy ;. 
"it's only a pity it isn't true." 

" True !" responded Minahan, with tone and 
action of indignation. "What have you to say 
again it ? It's as true as Komilus and Ramus, or the 
Irish Rogues and Rapparees, or the History of Rey- 
nard, the' Fox, and Reynardine, his son, or any 
other of the curious little books that people do be 
reading — that is, them that can read, for diversion's, 
sake, when they've got nothing- else to do. I sup- 
pose you'll be saving next, that fairies themselves- 



108 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

^ain't true ? That I mightn't, Remmy, but 'twouldn't 
much surprise me in the laste, to hear you say, as 
Paddy Sheehy, the schoolmaster, says, that the earth 
is round, like an orange, and that people do be walk- 
ing on the other side of it, with their heads down- 
wards, and their feet opposite to our feet !" 

11 A nd if I did say so?" inquired Eemmy, who — 
shanks to his schooling from the redoubtable Tim 
Daly — happened to know more of the Antipodes 
than his companion. 

" Faith, Remmy, if you did say so, I know one 
■that would misbelieve you, and that's my own self. 
For it stands to reason, all the world to a Chany 
orange, that if people was walking on the other side 
of the world, with their feet upwards and their heads 
down, they'd be sure to fall off before one could say 
' Jack Robinson.'" 

To such admirable reasoning as this, Remmy 
Carroll saw it would be quite useless to reply, so he 
allowed Minahan to rejoice in the advantage, usually 
-claimed by a female disputant, of having "the last 
word." 

They proceeded to the farmer's, Minahan, as they 
w^ent along, volunteering a variety of particulars rel- 
ative to the Petrified Piper — indulging, indeed, in 
such minuteness of detail, that it might have been- 
taken for granted that he had, personally, seen and 
iiearl the matters he described. 

It is to be feared that Remmy Carroll was but a 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 10 i> 

so-3C listener. He had no great faith in fairies, and 
his mind was just then preoccupied with thoughts 
of his own darling Mary Mahony. At last, Mina- 
han's conversation ended, for they had reached the 
farmer's house, where Bemmy and his pipes received 
the very warmest of welcomes. 

You need not fear that I have any intention of 
inflicting a description of the marriage upon you. 
It is enough to say that the evening was one of 
thorough enjoyment — Irish enjoyment, which is akin 
to a sort of mirthful madness. Perhaps Eemmy was 
the only person who did not thoroughly enter into the 
estro of the hour, for though successful love may in 
toxicate the mind, it subdues even the highest spirits,, 
and embarrasses while it delights. There is the -joy 
at the success — the greater if it has been unexpected 
—but this is a joy more concentrated than impulsive.. 
Its seat is deep within the heart, and there it luxu- 
riates, but it does not breathe its secret to the world, — 
it keeps its treasure all to itself, at first, a thing to be 
thought of and exulted over privily. Love, when 
successful, has a compelling power which subdues all 
other feelings. The causes which commonly move 
a man, have little power when this master-passion 
fills the breast. 

In compliance with the custom at all wedding- 
feasts in Ireland, the company freely partook of the 
national nectar (by mortals called whiskey-punch)* 



110 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

which was as plenty as tea at an ancient maiden's 
evening entertainment, where sally-run and scandal 
are discussed together, and a verdict is given, at one 
and the same time, upon character and Souchong. 
Remmy of course, imbibed a fair allowance of that 
resistless and potent mixture, the boast of which is, 
that " there is not a headache in a hogshead of it." 
Blaine him not. The apostle of Temperance had 
not then commenced his charitable crusade. How 
-could mortal man refuse the draught, brewed as it 
specially had been for him by the blushing bride 
herself, who, taking a dainty sup out of the horn 
which did duty for a tumbler, had the tempting gal- 
lantry to leave a kiss behind — even as "rare Ben 
Jonson" recommends. What marvel, if, when so 
many around him were rapidly passing the Rubicon 
of the cup, Rem my should have taken his allow- 
ance like " a man and a brother" — no, like a man 
and a piper, — particularly, when it is remembered 
that Love, as well as Grief, is proverbially thirsty. 
Still, Remmy Carroll had not exceeded the limits of 
sobriety. He had drank, but not to excess — for Lis 
failing was not in that wise. And even if he had 
partaken too freely of the charmed cup, it is doubt- 
ful whether, with strong passion and excited feeling 
making a secret under-current in his mind on that 
evening, any quantity of liquor could have sensibly 
-affected him. There are occasions when the emotions 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. Ill 

o* the heart are so powerful as to render it almost 
impossible for a man, even if he desired it, thus to 
steep his senses in forgetfulness. 

Remmy, therefore, was not "the worse for liquor" 
— although he certainly had not refrained from it. 
Minahan, on the other hand, who was quite a sea- 
soned vessel, most buoyant in the ocean of free- 
drinking, and to whom a skinful of strong liquor was 
quite a god-send, had speedily and easily contrived 
to get into that pleasant state commonly called "half- 
seas-over," — that is, he was not actually tipsy, but 
merry and agreeable ; and as he insisted on returning 
to Fermoy, though he was offered a bed in the barn, 
the trouble of escorting him devolved on Eemmy. 

They left the house together, lovingly linked arm- 
in-arm, for Minahan then had a tendency to zig-zag 
movements. The next day, Minahan was found 
lying fast asleep, with a huge stone for his pillow, 
near the footpath, at the base of Corran Thierna. 
It was noticed by one of those who discovered him, 
that his feet were within the fairy-ring which Eemmy 
had observed on the preceding evening. But of 
Rem my himself there was no trace. If the earth 
had swallowed him up, he could not have vanished 
more completely. His pipes were found on the 
grounl, near Minahan, and this was all that re- 
mained of one who, so often and well, had waked 
their soul of song. 

The whole district became alarmed ; for, indepen- 



112 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

dent of regret and wonder, on account of Kemmy's- 
personal popularity, a serious thing in a country 
district is the loss of its only Piper. At length, 
Father Tom Barry, the parish priest of Fermoy, 
thought it only his duty to pay a domiciliary visit 
to Minahan, to come at the real facts of the case, 
and solve what was felt to be "a most mysterious 
mystery." 

Minahan was found in bed. Grief for the sudden 
loss of his friend had preyed so heavily upon his 
sensitive mind, that, ever since, that fatal night, he- 
had been drowning sorrow — in whiskey. It was now 
the third day since Eemmy Carroll's disappearance ;. 
and when Father Tom entered the house, he found 
Minahan sleeping off the combined effects of afflic- 
tion and potheen. He was awakened as soon as 
could be, and his first exclamation was, " Oh, them 
fairies ! them thieves of fairies !" It was some time 
before he could comprehend the cause of Father- 
Tom's visit, but even when he did, his words still 
were, "Oh, them fairies! them thieves of fairies! 
they beat Bannagher, and Bannagher beats the 
world!" 

A growl from the priest, which, from lay lips, 
might have been mistaken for an execration, awoke 
Minahan to his senses — not that he was ever troubled 
with a superfluity of them. He testily declared his 
inability to tell his story, except upon conditions. 
"My memory," said he, "is just like an eel-skin,. 






THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 113 

your Eeverence. It don't stretch or become properly 
limber until 'tis wetted." On this hint, Father Tom 
sent for a supply of Tommy Walker ;* and after 
summarily dispatching a noggin oi it, Minahan 
thus spoke : — 

" 'Twas Remmy and myself, your EevereDce, 
that was meandering home together, when, as bad 
luck would have it, nothing would do me, being 
pretty-well-I-thank-you at that same time, but I 
must make a commencement of discourse with 
Kemmy about the fairy people : for, your worship, 
I'd been telling him before, as we went to the wed- 
ding of Phil Connor, who was transmographied 
into a stone statute. AY ell and good, just as Remmy 
came right forenent the fairy-ring, says he, ' 'Faith, 
I would not object myself to have a lilt with them!' 
No sooner had he said the words, your honor, than 
up came the sweet music that we heard the night 
before, and with that a thousand lights suddenly 
glanced up from the fairy-ring, just as if 'twas an 

* At that time, the two great whiskey-distillers in Cork were 
Thomas Walker and Thomas Wise, — respectively carrying on 
their business in the South and North suburbs of the city. Both 
are alluded to in Maginn's celebrated song, " Cork is the Aiden 
for you, love, and me." The verse runs thus : — 

" Take the road to Glanmire, the road to Blackrock, or 
The sweet Boreemannah, to charm your eyes ; 
If you doubt what is Wise, take a dram of Tom Walker, 
And if you're a Walker, top off Tommy Wise." 



11 i BITS OF BLARNEY. 

illumination for some great victory. Then, the 
music playing all the while, myself and Eemmy 
set our good-looking ears to listen, and, quick as 
I'd swallow this glass of whiskey — here's a good 
health to your Reverence! — a thousand dawny 
creatures started up and began dancing jigs, as if 
there was quicksilver in their heels. There they 
went, hither and thither, to and fro, far and near, 
coursing about in all manner of ways, and making 
the earth tremble beneath 'em, with the dint of their 
quickness. At last, your Reverence, one of them 
came out of the ring, making a leg and a bow as 
genteel as ould Lynch, the dancing-master, and said, 
* Mister Carroll,' says he, ' if you'd please to be 
agreeable, 'tis we'd like to foot it to your pipes (and 
you should have seen the soothering wink the villain 
gave as he said the words), 'for,' says he, ' 'tis our- 
selves have often heard tell of your beautiful playing.' 
Then the weeny little mite of a fairy fixed his little 
eyes upon Remmy, and, that I mightn't, if they did 
not shine in his head like two coals of red fire, or a 
cat's eye under a blanket ! 

" 'I'm no player for the likes of ye,' says Remmy, 
modest-like. But they'd take no excuse, and they 
all gathered around him, and what with sootherin' 
words, and bright looks, and little pushes, they 
complately put their comehether upon him, and 
coaxed hiri to play for them, and then, the cajoling 
creatures ! they fixed a big stone for a sate, and he 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 115 

struck up Garryowen, sharp and quick, like shot 
through a hoily-bush. Then they all set to at the 
dancing, like the blessed Saint Vitus and his cousins, 
.and surely it was a beautiful sight to look at. The 
dawny creatures worn't much bigger than your mid- 
dle linger, and all nately dressed in green clothes } 
with silk stockings and pumps, and three-cocked hats 
upon their heads, and powdered wigs, and silk sashes 
.across their breasts, and swords by their sides about 
the size of a broken needle. 'Faith, 'twas beautiful 
they footed it away, and remarkable they looked. 

" Well, your honor, he was playing away like mad, 
.and they were all capering about, male and faymale, 
young and old, just like the French who eat so many 
frogs that they do ever and always be dancing, when 
one of the faymale fairies come up to Kemnry's elbow, 
and said, in a voice that was sweeter than any music, 
1 May -be, Mister Carroll, you'd be dry?' Then Kem- 
my looked at her a moment, till the faymale fairy 
hung down her head, quite modest. ' Well,' says 
Kemmy, 'you ar^.a nice little creature, and no words 
about it !' She looked up at him, and her cheeks got 
as red as a field-poppy, with delight at Eemmy's 
praising her ; — for faymales, your Keverence, is fay- 
males all the world over, and a little blarney goes a 
great way with them, and makes them go on as 
smoothly as a hall-door upon well-oiled hinges. 
Then, she asked him again if he did not feel dry, 
and Eemmy said he'd been to a wedding, and wasn't 



116 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

dry in particular, but he'd just like to drink a good 
husband to her, and soon, and many of them. So, 
she laughed, and blushed again, and handed him a 
little morsel of a glass fall of something that, I'll be- 
bound for it, m as stronger, any how, than holy water. 
She kissed the little glass as he took it, and he drank 
away, and when he was handing her back the glass, 
his eyes danced in his head again, there was so much 
fire in them. So, thinking that some of the same- 
cordial would be good for my own complaint, I calls 
out to Remmy to leave a drop for me. But, whoop ! 
no sooner had I said the words, than, all of a sudden, 
the whole tote of them vanished away, Remmy throw- 
ing me his pipes, by way of keepsake, as he dashed 
down through the earth with the rest of them. I 
dare say he did not want to be bothered with the 
pipes, knowing that in the place he was going to he 
could use those that Phil Connor had taken down 
before. And that's all that I know of it." 

Here Minahan, overpowered with grief and the- 
fatigue of speaking, perpetrated a deep sigh and a 
deeper draught, which exhausted the remnant of the 
whiskey. 

" But, Minahan," said Father Barry, " you cer- 
tainly don't mean to pass off this wild story for 
fact." 

" But I do, your Reverence," said Minahan, rather 
testily. " Sure none but myself was to the fore, and 
it only stands to reason that as one piper wasn't. 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 117 

enough for the fairies, they seduced Kemmy Carroll 
away, bad cess to 'em for that same. And, indeed, 
your worship, I dreamed that I saw him last night, 
made up into a stone statute, like poor Phil Connor; 
and sure there's great truth in dreams, entirely." 

Father Barry, of course, did not believe one word 
of this extraordinary story, but his parishioners did, 
and therefore he eschewed the heresy of publicly 
doubting it. He contented himself with shaking 
-his head, somewhat after the grave fashion of a 
•Chinese Mandarin in a grocer's window, whenever 
this subject was alluded to, and this Burleigh indica- 
tion, as well as his silence, obtained for him an im- 
mense reputation for wisdom. 

There was one of his congregation who shared, 
to the full, the good priest's disbelief of Minahan's 
"tough yarn" about the fairies. This was Mary 
Mahony, who was convinced, whatever had befallen 
Eemmy, — and her fears anticipated even the worst 
— that he had not fallen into the hands of the fairies. 
Indeed, she was bold enough to doubt whether there 
were such beings as fairies. These doubts, however, 
she kept to herself. Poor thing ! silently but sadly 
did she miss her lover. She said not one word to 
•any one of what had passed between them on the 
memorable day of his disappearance. Bu j that her 
cheek grew pale, and that melancholy gently brooded 
in the deep quiet of her eyes, and that her voice, 
always low, was now sad and soft as the mournful 



118 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

murmur of the widowed cushat-dove, even vigilant 
observation could notice little difference in her. Not 
a day passed without her father lamenting Kemmy's 
absence, and when he spoke approvingly of our 
vanished hero, tears would slowly gather in her 
eyes, and her heart would swell with a sorrow all 
the deeper for suppression. It was great consola- 
tion for her to find, now that he was gone, how all 
lips praised the good qualities of Eemmy Carroll. 
It is pleasant to feel that one's love is not unworthily 
bestowed. 

Meantime, the deportation of Eemmy, by the- 
fairies, became duly accredited in Fermoy and its- 
vicinity. If he had solely and wholly vanished, it 
might have been attributed to what Horatio calls- 
"a truant disposition;" but his pipes were left be- 
hind him, circumstantial evidence of Minahan's nar- 
rative. Mightily was this corroborated, a few 
months after, when Gerald Barry, the priest 1 s- 
nephew, being out one day, coursing on Corran 
Thierna, discovered a sort of cave, the entrance to 
which had been concealed by the huge rock which 
lay close to the magic circle of the fairies ! His: 
terrier had run into it, after a refractory rabbit, 
who would not wait to be caught, and, from the 
length of his stay, it was conjectured that the cave 
must be of immense extent. True it is, that no one 
harbored the audacious thought of examining it; for 
what mortal could be so reckless as to venture into 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 119 

the stronghold of the "good people," — but the very 
fact of there being such a cavity under the rock, 
dignified with the brevet-rank of a cavern, satisfied 
the Fermoy folks that Eemmy Carroll was within 
it, changed into a Petrified Piper ! 

Some weeks later, Gerald Barry's dog again ran 
into the cave, and remained there until the young 
man, unwilling to lose a capital terrier, dug him 
out with his own hands ; for neither love nor money 
could tempt any one else to do . such a fool-hardy 
exploit. He declared that the mysterious cave was 
no cave, but only an old rabbit-burrow ! All the 
old women, in and out of petticoats, unanimously 
announced that it was clear (" as mud in a wine- 
glass," no doubt), that the cave had been there, but 
that the fairies had changed the whole aspect of the 
place, to prevent the discovery of their petrified vic- 
tims ; for, argued they, if they could make men into 
marble statues, they certainly must possess the 
minor power of making a cave look as insignificant 
as a rabbit-burrrow. Logic, such as this, was suf- 
ficient to settle the mooted point, and then it became 
a moral and physical certainty, in the Fermoy world, 
that Phil Connor and Remmy Carroll were petrified 
inmates of the mountain cavern ! 

When, some eighteen months after this, it was 
Gerald Barry's ill-fortune to break his collar-bone 
by a fall from his horse, in a steeple- chase, there 
arose a general conviction, in the minds of all the 



120 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Fermoy believers in fairy -lore, that this was a pun 
ishment inflicted upon him by " the good people,'* 
for his impertinent intrusion into their peculiar 
ftaunts. 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 121 

CHAPTER Y. 

HOW IT ALL ENDED. 

Slowly, but surely, does the tide of Time carry 
year after year into the eternity of the Past. As 
wave chases wave to the shore, on which it breaks — 
sometimes in a gentle and diffusing ripple, some- 
times into feathery foam, if it strike against a rock — 
so does year chase year away into the memory of 
what has been. It is the same with empires and 
villages, with the crowded haunts of men, and the 
humble huts wherein the poor do vegetate. For 
each and for all, Time sweeps on ; carrying on its 
tide, amid many things of little value, some with 
which are linked sweet and tender associations. To 
look back, even for a single year, and contrast what 
has been with what is ! How mournful the retros- 
pect, in the generality of cases! Hopes fondly 
•cherished, alleviating the actual pains of life by the 
promise of an ideal improvement ; day-dreams 
indulged in, until they become fixed upon the mind, 
as if they were realities ; resolutions made, which the 
heart found it impossible to Carry into practice; 
sunny friendships in full luxuriance, which a few 
hasty words, too quickly taken up, were to throw 
into shade, at once and forever ; love itselfj which 
promised so much in its glorious spring, grown cold 
6 



122 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

and careless. Talk of the changes of a year !— look 
back, and recollect what even a single day has given 
birth to ; but, think not that there is always change, 
or that all changes are for the worst. Sometimes 
the bright hopes will have the glad fulfilment ; the 
day-dreams, after passing through the ordeal of ex- 
pectation, which, when deferred, maketh the heart 
sick, will be happily realized; the friendship on 
which we relied will have gone through the trial, 
and have stood the test ; the love will have proved 
itself all that the heart had ventured to anticipate, 
and have thrown upon the realities of life, an endur- 
ing charm, mingling strength and softness, including 
in its magic circle, endurance as strong as adamant, 
and tenderness which subdues even while it sustains. 
Aye, life has its lights and shadows ; and, in the 
circling course of time and circumstance, the shadow 
of to-day glides gently on, until it be lost in the sun- 
shine of the morrow. 

Let us return to our story. Imagine, if you. 
please, that six years have passed by since the mys- 
terious and nnforgotten disappearance of Remmy 
Carroll, our very humble hero. Many changes have 
taken place, locally and generally. Fermoy, rapidly 
rising into opulence, as the greatest military depot 
in Ireland, still kept a memory of Remmy Carroll. 
Death had laid his icy hand upon Mr. Bartle Ma« 
hony, whose fair daughter, Mary, had succeeded to 
his well-stocked farm and his prudent accumula- 
tions, which, joined with her own possessions, made 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 123: 

her comparatively wealthy. But, in her, and in 
such as her, who derive their nobility from God, 
fortune could make no change — except by enlarge 
ing the sphere of her active virtues. In a very 
humble and unostentatious way, Mary Mahony was 
the Lady Bountiful of the place. The blessings of 
the poor were hers. Wherever distress was to be- 
relieved — and Heaven knows that the mournful in- 
stances were not a few — there did the quiet bounty 
of Mary Mahony flow, scattering blessings around 
by that gentle personal expression of feeling and 
sympathy, which the highly imaginative and excita- 
ble Irish prize far more than the most liberal dole 
which mere Wealth can haughtily bestow. Oh, that 
those who give, could know, or would pause to 
think, how much rests on the manner of giving f 
Any Land can dispense the mere largesse, which is 
called "Charity," but the voice, the glance, the 
touch of hearted kindness soothes the mental pangs 
of the afflicted. In Ireland, where there are count- 
less calls upon benevolence, casual relief has been 
demanded as a sort of right; but a kind word, a 
gentle tone, a sympathizing look, makes the gift of 
double value. And where was there ever kindness 
and gentleness to equal those exercised by Mary 
Mahony? She had had her own experiences in. 
sorrow, and was, therefore, well qualified to yield tc 
others that touching sympathy which most forcibly 
awakens gratitude. She had suffered, and, there- 
fore, she sympathized. 



124 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Her beauty remained undimmed, but its character 
was somewhat charged. If there was less of the 
fire of earlier days, there was more of intellectual 
expression, the growth at once of her mind's devel- 
opment into maturity, and of the sorrows which had 
chastened her, as well as of the circumstances which 
had thrown her thoughts into contemplation. At 
her age — she was barely three-and- twenty — it ap- 
pears absurd to talk of her loveliness having had 
its peach-like bloom impaired. As Wordsworth 
says, 

" She seemed a thing that could not feel 
The touch of earthly years." 

"What the same true poet has said of that fair Lucy, 
who yet lives in his exquisite lyric, might have 
been said, without any breach of truth, of our own 
Mary Mahony: 

" Then Nature said, ' A lovelier flower 

On earth was never sown ; 
This child I to myself will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 

A lady of my. own.' " 

At first, after her father's death, when it was 
known in what a prosperous state she had been 
left (and rumor, as usual, greatly exaggerated the 
fact), she had been pestered with the addresses of 
various persons who would have been happy to ob- 
tain a fair bride with her goodly heritage, but it 






THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 125 

was soon found that she was not matrimonially in- 
clined, so, by degrees, they left her "maiden medi- 
tation fancy-free." Among her suitors were a few 
who really were not influenced by interested 
motives, and sought to win her, out of their admi- 
ration for herself. Gently, but decidedly, they 
were repulsed, and many of them, who were much 
above her in wealth and station, w r ere proud to be 
reckoned among her warm friends at a later period. 
It seemed as if she could not have made an enemy 
— as if she could not awaken unkind feelings in 
any mind. Even scandal never once thought of 
inventing stories about her, — goodness and inno- 
cence were around her, like a panoply. 

Mary Mahony remained true to the cherished 
passion of her youth. It flowed on, a silent and 
deep stream. None knew what she felt. None were 
aware of the arrow in her heart, and her pain was 
the intenser for its concealment. So wholly unsus- 
pected was her secret, that when, immediately after 
her father's death, she received Kemmy Carroll's bed- 
ridden relative as an inmate at her own residence 
people only admired the charity which had led her to 
succour the helpless. No one appeared to think, for 
they did not know, that Kemmy could ever have 
awakened an interest in her heart. 

The destinies of Europe had been adjusted. The 
Imperial Eagle of France had been struck down at 
"Waterloo, when Napoleon and Wellington had met 



126 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

and battled. After peace had been proclaimed, the 
Ministry of the day proceeded to reduce the war es- 
tablishment, by disbanding the second battalions of 
many regiments. The result was that some thousands 
of ex-soldiers wended home. Very many of them 
•were from Ireland, and came back mere wrecks of 
manhood — for the casualties of battle, and the certain- 
ties of sharp hospital practice, are only too successful 
in removing such superfluities as arms and legs. 

In the spring of 1816, two or three persons might 
have been seen walking down the main street of Fer- 
moy. If there could have existed any doubt as to 
what they had been, their measured walk and martial 
bearing would have promptly removed it. They, 
indeed, were disabled soldiers. The youngest might 
have numbered some eight-and-twenty years, and, 
though he was minus his left arm, few men could be 
found whose personal appearance was superior to his 
own. 

They passed on, unnoticed, as any other strangers 
might have passed on, and found "choicest welcome" 
in a hostelrie, "for the accommodation of man and 
beast," at the lower end of the town. What creature- 
comforts they there partook of I am unable to enu- 
merate, for the bill of fare, if such a document ever 
existed in that neat but humble inn, has not been 
preserved. The sun had nearly gone down, however, 
before any of the peripatetic trio manifested any in- 
clination towards locomotion. At last, he, to whom 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 127 

I have more particularly drawn attention, told Lis 
•companions that he had some business in the town — 
.some inquiries to make — and would rejcin them in 
an hour or two at the latest. He might as well have 
spoken to the wind, for they had walked that day 
from Cork (a trifle of some eighteen Irish miles), and 
were already fast asleep on the benches. Their com- 
panion wrapped himself up in a large military cloak, 
lined with fur — whilom, in Kussia, it had covered 
the iron-bound shoulders of a captain in Napoleon's 
Old Guard. This completely concealed his figure, 
and drawing his hat over his face, so as to shade his 
features, he sallied forth, like Don Quixote, in search 
of adventures. 

When he reached the Sessions House, at the ex- 
tremity of the town, instead of pursuing the high 
road which leads to Lismore, he deviated to the ex- 
treme left, crossed the meadow-bound by the paper- 
mill, and found himself on the Inch, by that rapid 
branch of the Blackwater which has been diverted 
from the main current for the use of the two mills — 
illegally diverted, I think, for it renders the natural 
course of the river a mere shallow, and prevents a 
navigation which might be carried on with success 
and profit, from Fermoy, by Lismore, down to the 
sea at Youghall. 

Rapidly pressing forward, the Stranger soon came 
to the chasm which has already been mentioned as 
that from which, some years since, Eeramy Carroll, 



128 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

tlie piper, had rescued Mary Mahon y from drownings 
lie threw himself, at listless length, on the sward by 
the gurgling stream, and gazed, in silence, on the 
fair scene before him. 

It was, indeed, a scene to delight the eye and 
charm the mind of any beholder. Across the broad 
river were the rocks of Eathhely, clothed here and 
there with larches and pines, those pleasant ever- 
greens — before him swept the deep and rapid waters 
— and, a little lower down, like a stately sentinel 
over the fine country around, rose the tall and pre- 
cipitous rock, on which stood the ruins, proud in 
their very decay, of the ancient castle of Carriga- 
brick, — one of the round, lofty, lonely towers, whose 
origin and use have puzzled so many antiquaries,, 
from Ledwich and Yallancey, to Henry O'Brien 
and Thomas Moore, George Petrie and Sir William 
Betham. 

With an eager and yet a saddened spirit, the 
stranger gazed intently and anxiously upon the 
scene, varied as it is picturesque, his mind drinking 
in its quiet beauty — a scene upon which, in years 
long since departed, my own boyhood loved to look. 
And now, in the softened effulgence of the setting 
sun, and the silence of the hour, the place looked 
more like the embodiment of a poet's dream, or a 
painter's glorious imagining, than anything belong- 
ing to this every-day world of hard and cold reality. 
The Stranger gazed upon the scene silently for 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 129 

a time, but his feelings miglit thus be embod ed in 
words: — "It is beautiful, and it is the same; only, 
until I saw other places, praised for their beauty, I 
did not know how beautiful were the dark river, and 
the quiet meadows, and the ivy-covered rock, and 
the gray ruin. Change has heavily passed over my- 
self, but has lightly touched the fair Nature around 
me. Heaven knows whether she may not be changed 
also. I would rather be dead than hear she was 
another's. The lips that my lips have kissed — the 
eyes that my eyes have looked into — the hand that 
my hand has pressed — the form that my arms have 
folded ; that another should call them his — the very 
thought of it almost maddens me. Or, she may be 
dead ? I have not had the heart to inquire. This 
suspense is the worst of all, — let me end it." 

Thus he thought — perhaps the thoughts may 
have unconsciously shaped themselves into words: 
but soliloquies may be thought as well as uttered 
audibly. He rose from the damp sward, sprang 
across the chasm, proceeded rapidly on, and in ten 
minutes was sitting on the stile, by which, in other 
days, he had often parted from Mary Mahony — for, 
by this time, my readers must have recognized 
Eemmy Carroll in the Stranger. 

How long he rested here, or with what anxious 

feelings he gazed upon the house, just visible 

through the trees, I am not able to state, — but I can 

easily imagine what a contention of hope and feai 

6* 



130 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

there must have been in his heart. The apprehen- 
sion of evil, however, was in the ascendant, for T 
though two or three half-familiar faces passed him, 
he could not summon courage to ask after Mary 
and her father. At last, he determined to make 
full inquiries from the next person he saw. 

The opportunity was speedily afforded. A female 
appeared, slowly advancing up the path. Could it 
indeed be herself? She came nearer. One glance, 
and he recognized her, the star of his spirit — bright, 
beaming, and as beautiful as Memory and Fancy 
(the dove-winged ministers of Love) had delighted 
to paint her, amid the darkness and perils of the Past. 

He sprang forward to meet her. There was no 
recognition upon her part. Nor was this very won- 
derful — though the lover of romance might expect, 
as a matter of course, that, from pure sympathy, 
the maiden should have instantly known who was 
before her. Years, which had passed so gently 
over her, softening and mellowing her beauty, had 
bronzed his face, and almost changed its very ex- 
pression. The dark moustache and thick whiskers, 
which he now wore, his altered appearance, his 
military bearing, — all combined to make him very 
different from the rustic, however comely, whom 
she had last seen six years before. 

Seeing a stranger advance towards her, Mary 
paused. He accosted her, with an inquiry whethel 
Mr. Bartle Mahony was to be seen ? 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 131 

"He is dead," said she. "He ha* been dead 

nearly six years." 

Carroll started back, for the unwelcome news 
■chilled him, and- the well-remembered tones struck 
^some of the most responsive chords of his heart. 

" I am grieved to hear of his death. I knew him 
once. He was kind to me in former days, when 
kindness was of vnlue, and I came to thank him 
now. God's blessing on his soul ! He was a good 
man." There was a slight pause, and he resumed, 
"Perhaps you can tell me, young lady, whether his 
daughter is alive, and where she may be seen ? 
The trifles which I have brought from foreign 
countries, to mark my recollection of his goodness 
to me, perhaps she may accept?" 

"You are speaking to her," said Mary. 

"My little presents are in this parcel," said Eem- 
my. " They are relics from the field of battle. 
'These silver-mounted pistols were given to me by a 
Prench officer, whose life I saved, — this Cross of 
the Legion of Honor was hastily plucked from the 
bosom of one of his dead comrades, after a fierce 
•charge at Waterloo. Take them : — I destined them 
for your father from the moment they became 
mine." 

He placed the parcel in her hand. — One question 
would bring hope or despair. He feared to ask it. 
He drew closer, and, as composedly as he could, 
whispered into her ear, "Are you married?" 



132 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

The blood flushed up into Mary's face. She 
drew back, for his questioning vexed her, and she 
wished to get rid of the inquisitive stranger. She 
handed him back the parcel, and said, "I hope, sir, 
that you do not mean to annoy or insult me ? If' 
you do, there are those within call who can soon 
release me from your intrusion. I cannot retain 
the presents which a mere stranger tells me were 
intended for my poor father. — And, if I must an- 
swer your last question, I am not married." 

" Thank God!" was Carroll's earnest and involun- 
tary exclamation. 

People may talk as they please of the quick- 
sightedness of love. Mary certainly had little oi 
it, for she did not recognize her lover, and, turning 
round, prepared to return home. Carroll gently- 
detained her, by placing his hand upon her arm. 

" I pray your pardon," said he, " but I may not. 
have an opportunity of again speaking to you, and 
I have a word to say about a person whom you 
once knew, but have probably forgotten. There 
was a poor, worthless young man, named Carroll, 
in this neighborhood a few years ago. He was a, 
weak creature, fool enough to love the very ground 
on which you trod, and vain enough to think that, 
you were not quite indifferent to him." 

" I do not know," said Mary, with a flushed, 
cheek, and flashing eyes, "why you should continue 
to intrude your presence and your conversation- 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 133 

when you see that both are unpleasant to me. I 
do not know why you should ask me questions 
which a sense of common decency would have 
avoided. If I answer you now, it is that my silence 
may not appear to sanction imputations upon one 
over whom, I fear, the grave has closed — whom, be 
he alive or dead, it was no dishonor to have known 
and have regarded. I did know this Carroll whom 
you name, but cannot imagine how you, a stranger, 
-can have learnt that I did. It was his misfortune 
to have been poor, but he never was worthless, nor 
could have been." 

" One word more," exclaimed Remmy, "but one 
more word. Remmy Carroll, so long believed to 
have been dead, is alive and in health — after many 
sufferings he returns home, poor as when he left it, 
rich in nothing but an honest name. He comes 
back, a disabled soldier, and he dare not ask whether, 
beautiful and wealthy as you are, you are the Mary 
Mahony of other years, and love 'him still ?" 

Mary looked at him with intent anxiety. The 
color which emotion had sent into her face paled, 
•and then rushed back in a quickened life-tide, mant- 
ling her very forehead. Even then she had not rec- 
ognized her lover ! 

" If he be indeed returned," said she, in a voice so 
low that Remmy did not know whether the words 
were addressed to him, or were the mere impulse of 
her thought, involuntarily framed into utterance, 



134 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

" and if' he be the same in heart — the same frank 
and honest mind — the same true and loving spirit — ■ 
the same in his contempt of all that is bad, and his 
reverence for whatever is good — his poverty is 
nothing, for / have wealth ; and if his health be: 
broken, I yet may soothe the pain I may not cure.. 
Tell me," said she, and the words came forth, this 
time, freely spoken, as if she had determined to be 
satisfied and to act, " tell me, you who seem to know 
him, though your description wrongs him, where has 
Remmy Carroll been during all these long years ? 
Why did he leave us ? Why did he not write to- 
relieve the anxiety of those who cared for him?' 
Where is he now ?" 

What was the response? Softly and suddenly 
an arm wound itself around that graceful form, 
warmly and lovingly fell a shower of kisses on the 
coral beauty of those luxuriant lips. 

Was she not angry — fiercely indignant? Did 
not her outraged feelings manifest their anger ? Was. 
not her maidenly modesty in arms at the liberty 
thus taken, and by a stranger? This was the 
crowning misconduct — did she not reprove it ? 

No! for, in tones which thrilled through her lov- 
ing heart, Remmy Carroll whispered " Mary ! — my 
own, true, dear Mary !" In the struggle (for Mary 
did struggle at first) which immediately preceded 
these words, the large cloak and the hat fel off, and 
then she recognized the forehead and the eyes — 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 135 

then she knew him whom she had loved so well, 
and monrned so long — then she threw her arms 
around his neck, in the very abandonment of affec- 
tion and delight — then she clung close and yet closer 
to him, as if they never more must part — then, re- 
membering how she was yielding to the warm im- 
pulses of her nature, she hid Jier burning face in his 
bosom, and then, when he embraced her again and 
again, she could not find words to protest against the 
gentle deed. 

Then, arm in arm, they walked into the house,, 
and there Eemmy's aged relative, whose condition 
and sufferings had been so much improved and alle- 
viated by the kindness and bounty of Mary Ma- 
hony — simply because she was Eemmy's relative — 
was made happy by the presence of him over whom 
she had shed so many bitter tears. Perhaps her 
happiness was augmented by perceiving on what ex- 
cellent terms the heiress and he were — perhaps her 
eyes filled with pleasant tears, when Mary Mahony 
whispered into her ear " Minny, he will stay with us 
now, forever, and will never leave us." Perhaps, 
too, the whisper was not unheard by Kemnrv — and 
it would be a difficult point to decide whether or not 
it were intended to reach his car, as well as Minny 's. 
And then, all that both had to learn. There was so 
much to be told on both sides. All that Carroll 
cared to know was this — that he loved, and that his 
love was warmly returned. A thousand times, 



136 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

that evening, and forever, did Mary exclaim against 
herself for not having recognized him immediately, 
and a thousand times smilingly aver, that, from his 
changed appearance and studied efforts at conceal- 
ment, the recognition was all but impossible. And 
then they sat together, hand clasped in hand, eyes 
looking into eyes, until an hour far into the night, 
talking of old times and present happiness, and fu- 
ture hopes. And they spoke, too, of the good old 
man who had passed away, in the fulness of years, 
into the far and better land. Old memories were 
revived, brightened by new hopes. Oh, how happy 
they were ! it was the very luxury of love — the con- 
centrated spirit of passion, purified by suffering, and 
tried by absence — the repayment, in one brief hour, 
for years of doubt, pain, and sorrow. 

At last came the time to part ; but with it came 
the certainty of a speedy meeting. The next day, 
and day after day, until that arrived when holiest 
rites made them man and wife, Remmy Carroll was 
to be found by the side of his beloved Mary Mahony ; 
and soon, when the news of his return were noised 
about, crowds came to sCe him, and far and near was 
spread the announcement that a wedding was on the 
tapis. General was the surprise — general, too, the 
satisfaction, for the young people were universal 
favorites, and time and circumstances had removed 
the principal objections which even the worldly- 
minded might have raised to the anion of Mr. Bartle 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 137 

Mahony's daughter and heiress to one who, a few 
years before, had occupied a position in society so 
much." beneath her. It was universally conceded that, 
in every sense, the match was extremely suitable and 
proper ; but Eemmy and Mary did not require popu- 
lar opinion to sanctify their attachment. They were 
all in all to each other. 

It is not to be supposed that Mary Mahony was 
.allowed to continue ignorant of the vicissitudes 
through which Eemmy Carroll had passed. He told 
his story, and 

" She gave him for his tale a world of sighs." 

It may be expected that of this tale some notice 
be here given. But, in very truth, those who look 
for a romantic elucidation of the mysterious disap- 
pearance, and prolonged absence, and unexpected re- 
turn of Eemmy Carroll, will be greatly disappointed. 
The main incidents were simple enough, and here 
they are. 

It may be remembered that Eemmy had acted as 
escort to Minahan, on their return from that wedding 
at which the Piper had made his last professional 
appearance. He had found some difficulty in pilot- 
ing his companion along the high road from Eath- 
•cormac to Fermoy ; and, indeed, when they reached 
the mountain, Minahan, in a fit of drunken obsti- 
nacy, would throw himself upon the heathy sward, 



138 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

where, in a few minutes, he was fast in the gentle- 
bonds of sleep. Remmy Carroll, having accompa- 
nied him so far, did not like to leave him, and sat. 
down beside him to watch for his awakening, with 
the purpose, also, of seeing that he fell into no mis- 
chief. But, after a time, from the combined influ- 
ences of the fresh air, want of rest, and what he 
had partaken at the wedding, Remmy found himself 
quite unable to keep his eyes open. He was con- 
scious that sleep was creeping over him, and so r 
taking off his pipes, for fear that he might injure 
them by lying upon them, he carefully placed them 
upon the grass, beside him, and resigned himself to 
slumber. 

On awaking, he found — to his excessive amaze- 
ment — that he was lying "on the sunny side of a 
baggage-cart," with his head reposing on the lap of 
a soldier's wife. In reply to his inquiries, he was 
recommended to take it coolly, and, at any rate, not 
to make any noise until they reached Glanmire, about, 
four miles from Cork, to which city he was informed, 
that he was bound. When the cavalcade of baggage- 
carts and soldiers reached Glanmire, he was summa- 
rily acquainted with the novel information that he 
had been duly enlisted as a recruit, and his informant 
—a fierce-looking, hook-nosed, loud-voiced martinet 
of a Sergeant — asked him to put his hand into his- 
pocket, and that would satisfy him that he had regu- 
larly and irrevocably become attached to the military 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 130- 

service of " his Most Gracious Majesty King George 
the Third." Accordingly, Kemmy did as he was- 
desired, and in the pocket as aforesaid found a bright 
shilling, which certainly had not been there on the 
previous night — more particularly, as tenpenny 
pieces were the current coin in Ireland at the period. 
To Eemmy's possession of the solitary shilling, 
among a little handful of tenpenny and flvepenny 
pieces (the sum-total realized by his performance at. 
the wedding), the modern Sergeant Kite triumphantly 
appealed in proof that he had been regularly enlisted. 
It is needless to observe that, of this transaction,. 
Kemmy Carroll — albeit the person chiefly concerned 
— had not the slightest recollection. He appealed 
to one of the officers, and was told that, if the Ser- 
geant said he was enlisted, there could be no doubt 
of the fact, and that his Majesty was fortunate in 
having obtained such a promising recruit, as the 
regiment was on the eve of embarkation. His re- 
monstrances, and denials, and appeals, were in vain. 
The significant hint was added, that death was the 
punishment usually awarded for desertion. So, 
making a virtue of necessity — the more so, as he 
perceived that he was so strongly and suspiciously 
watched that flight would have been useless — he 
had no alternative but to proceed to Cork with the 
regiment, as cheerfully as he could, and, in despite 
of himself, as it were, was duly attested, magistrates 
not being very particular in those days. To all his 



liO BITS OF 13 LA RNE Y. 

assertions, that he had not the slightest recollection 
of having been enlisted, the reply was that, if he 
could procure a substitute, they did hot require his 
■company — but to do this was impossible. 

In a few days, the regiment embarked for the 
Peninsula, and his friend, the Sergeant, told him on 
the voyage, as an excellent joke, in what manner 
they had trepanned him — namely, that, as the regi- 
ment was passing by the mountain, early in the 
morning, en route for embarkation, one of the officers 
who rode above the highway (for the road is literally 
cut out of and into the hill) had noticad Remmy and 
Minahan asleep, and had remarked what an admi- 
rable soldier the former would make ; Minahan, it 
seems, was thought nothing of, being, like Othello, 
w declined into the vale of years." The remark was 
taken as a hint, and Remmy was removed, even as 
he was, fist asleep, to one of the baggage-carts, with 
the least possible delay. The details of the trans- 
action had been executed by the Sergeant, who 
chuckled over this narrative, piquing himself not 
a little on the dexterity of the trick. 

Carroll was unable to write to Mary Mahony, on 
account of what had befallen him, being afraid of 
his 1 utter falling into other hands than her own. 
lie did write to Minahan, in the hope that, in that 
circuitous way, Mary might obtain a knowledge of 
his misadventure. The letter, if ever posted, never 
-came to hand, and thus, for more than six weary 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 141 

years, Mary Maliony in particular, with the inhabit- 
ants of Fermcy in general, was profoundly ignorant 
of Remmy's fate. 

It was fortunate that Remmy was. of that easy 
temperament which takes the world as it finds it, 
readily accommodates itself to circumstances, and 
wisely acts on the sensible aphorism, " what can't, 
be cured must be endured." While he bitterly 
lamented his enforced absence from the girl of his 
heart — just at the crisis, too, when he learned that 
he occupied an enviable position in hei affections — 
he knew that all the regrets in the world would not 
bring him one furlong nearer to her. He deter- 
mined to make the best of his situation. In a short 
time he even came to like it. Good conduct, good 
temper, and his ability to read and write, soon rec- 
ommended him to his superiors, and obtained his 
promotion to the rank of Sergeant. In this capacity, 
he contrived to save a sum of money; which, in for- 
mer years, he would have considered quite a treasure, 
and which, at any rate, was sufficiently large as to 
warrant its possessor against the imputation of for- 
tune-hunting, should he return to Ireland, find 
Mary Mahony unmarried, and pay his addresses to 
her. 

When the short peace of 1814 was made, the 
regiment in which Remmy served returned to Eng- 
land, and Remmy made application for his dis- 
charge, and would have purchased it if he could not 



142 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

procure it by other means. But immediately came 
the renewal of war, by the return of Napoleon from 
Elba, and Remmy's regiment was one of the first to 
return to the Continent. In the battle of Waterloo, 
Hemmy received a severe wound in the left arm, 
which rendered amputation necessary, after prolonged 
and painful sufferings. At length, he was able to 
return to England, with a handsome gratuity for his 
w r ouncl, and a respectable pension, which, with what 
he had already picked up "in the wars," really 
made him quite a man of independent means. His 
plea of poverty had been only a ruse to try the 
strength of the maiden's affection. But, in her eyes, 
•of much greater value than his hoard or his pension 
was a testimonial of courage and character given 
him by his Colonel, and especially countersigned by 
the Duke of Wellington, who had personally noticed 
his conduct during the six years he had been in the 
service. Great pride, be sure, had Carroll in hand- 
ing over this precious document to Mary Mahony. 
Many tears did she shed over the vicissitudes which 
had earned it — but tears will flow from bright eyes, 
when there is a handsome lover at hand to kiss them off. 
The wedding followed, in due course. Such a 
wedding ! that of Camacho was a fool to it. Mr. 
■and Mrs. Carroll, it is true, violated the usage of 
Irish society (of their rank of life) by quitting the 
farm, on a honeymoon excursion, shortly after 
Father Barry had united them "for better, for 



THE PETRIFIED PIPER. 143 

worse," as it was fully expected that, according to 
the immemorial custom among the extensive class 
which embraces all ranks from the wealthy farmer 
to the poor peasant, the bride and bridegroom 
should have presided at the nuptial feast, opened 
the post-prandial festivities by leading off the dance, 
and finally gone through the loosening the bride's 
garters, and be followed by the ceremonial of her 
"throwing the stocking." But, except during the 
performance of the nuptial service, the company at 
Carrigabrick farm saw little, on that day of days, of 
either Kemmy Carroll or his fair and faithful help- 
mate. Enough, however, for the gay bachelors to 
-admire the beauty (now bright with happiness) of 
the bride, while the Waterloo medal and the Water- 
loo wound of our hero won him favor in the eyes 
-and from the lips of all the womankind who were 
" on their promotion." Despite the speedy flight of 
"the happy couple," the rites of hospitality were 
•duly celebrated in their homestead, and, indeed, a 
general holiday was kept in the neighborhood. 
The warmth of Irish hearts had its effervescence on 
that occasion, and it wished an infinity of joy to 
Remmy Carroll and his bride. 

About this time, Minahan's character for veracity 
fell into disrepute, it being pretty clear that Remmy 
Carroll was anything but a petrifaction — at least 
Mary Mahony's testimony would go a great way to 
-disprove that imputation. But there ever are peo- 



1-4-i BITS OF BLARNEY. 

pie who will manfully maintain the superiority of 
the ideal over the real, and a few of these, vegetat- 
ing at Fermoy, used to shake their heads when. 
Remmy Carroll walked by, and, having said, all 
along, that, beyond all doubt, some supernatural 
agency had removed our hero, think themselves 
somewhat aggrieved in the unromantic common- 
place explanation of his enforced absence. To the 
hour of his death, Minahan was ready to say or 
swear that he had told no more than the truth — or 
an equivalent for the truth — and was wont to ap- 
peal, when in his cups (which was whenever he had 
anj^thing to put into them), to Carroll's good fortune- 
in proof of the advantageous influence of fairy 
favor. He had a few semi-converts — who believed 
that Remmy Carroll was as much petrified as Phil 
Connor. Indeed, without any very remarkable de- 
velopment of the organ of marvellousness, I think 
so too. 

It but remains to add that, in due season, Mr. 
and Mrs. Carroll returned to their farm. Remmy 
never more played the pipes save for his own 
amusement (as the Marquis of Carrabas' cat caught 
mice), and he and his wife lived happily together, 
after their many trials. One of their family is set- 
tied in the State of JSTew York, and doing well. 



THE GERALDINK 



A mouekful wail, all sad and low, like the murmur 
which the breeze 

On an "Autumnal eve might make among the sere- 
leaved trees, — 

Then a rapt silence, soul subdued ; a listening silence 
there. 

With earnest supplicating eyes, and hand-clasped 
hush of prayer. 

Talk not of grief, till thou hast seen the tears which 
warriors shed, 

Where the chief who led them on to fame lies al- 
most of the Dead ; 

Where the eagle eye is dim and dull, and the eagle 
spirit cold; 

Where fitfully and feebly throbs the heart which 
was so bold, — 

Thou might'st have fancied grief like this, if ever it 
were thine, 

To hear a minstrel sing the deeds of the valiant 
Geraldine. 
7 



146 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

II. 

Where is that gallant name unknown? wherever 

Valour shone, 
Wherever mightiest chiefs were named, the Geral- 

dine was one; 
Wherever Erin s banner waved, the Geraldine was- 

there, 
Winning honour from his prince's praise, and favor 

fr^m the fair. — 
But now his course is closing, for his final hour has 

come, 
And, like a peaceful peasant, 'tis his hap to die at 

home. 
The priest hath been to shrive him, and the leech 

hath been to tend, 
And the old man, with a Christian heart, prepared 

to meet his end : 
" It is God's will, the Abbot says, that, unlike to all 

my line, 
I should die, not on the battle-field," said the gal- 
lant Geraldine. 



III. 

Within his tent the warrior lay, by his side his 

children three ; 
There was Thomas, with the haughty brow, the 

Lord of OfFaley ; 



THE GERALDINE. 147 

'There was gentle Ina, wedded to proud Desmond's 

gallant son; 
There was Kichard, he the youngest born and best 

beloved one. 
Xord Thomas near his father stood, fair Ina wept 

apace, 
Young Richard by the couch knelt down and hid 

his pale, sad face ; 
He would not that the common eye should gaze 

upon his woe, 
Nor that how very much he mourned, his dying sire 

should know; — 
JBut the old man said, "My youngest born, the 

deepest grief is thine," 
And then the pent-up tears rained fast on the face 

of Geraldine. 

IT. 

'" Lead out my steed — the Arab barb, which lately, 
in Almaine, 

I won in single combat, from a Moorish lord of 
Spain, — 

And bring my faulchion hither, with its waved 
Damascene blade, 

In temper true, and sharpness keen as ever armourei 
made. 

Thou seest, my son, this faulchion keen, that war- 
horse from the plain, 



148 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Thou nearest thy father's voice, which none may 

ever hear again ; 
Thou art destined for the altar, for the service of the- 

Lord, 
But if thy spirit earthward tend, take thou the steed 

and sword. 
Ill doth it hap, when human thoughts jostle with 

thoughts divine, 
Steel armour, better than the stole, befits a Gerald 

dine!" 



"My father, thou hast truly said: — this soaring- 
spirit swells 
Beyond those dreary living tombs — yon dark 

monastic cells. 
The cold in heart and weak in hand may seek their 

pious gloom, 
And mourn, too late, the hapless vow which cast 

them such a doom: 
Give me the flashing faulchion and the fiery steed 

of war — 
The shout — the blow — the onset quick where serried 

thousands are. 
Thine eldest-born may claim and take thy lordships 

and thy land, 
I ask no more than that bold steed, this good sword 

in my hand^ 



THE GERALDINE. 149 

To win the fame that warriors win, and haply to 

entwine. 
In other lands, some honours new round the name 

of Greraldine." 

VI. 

Plashed then into tht Chieftain's eyes the light of 

other days, 
And the pressure of the old man's hand spoke more 

than words of praise : 
"So let it be, my youngest-born! thine be a war- 
rior's life, 
And may God safely speed thee through thy coming 

deeds of strife. 
Take knighthood from thy father's sword, before 

his course be run, — 
Be valiant, fortunate, and true ; acquit thee as my 

son ! 
My harper here ? — ere life depart, strike me some 

warlike strain ; 
Some song of my own battle-field I would hear once 

more again : 
Unfurl the silken Sunburst * in the noontide's golden 

shine, 
In death, even as in pride of life, let it wave o'er 

Geraldine!" 

* " The Sunburst," says Moore, " was the fanciful name given 
by the ancient Irish tr the royal banner." 



150 BITS OF BLARNEY. 



VII. 



The banner fluttered in the breeze, the harper's strain 

went on, 
A song it was of mighty deeds by the dying Chiefs 

tain done. 
At first he listened calmly, — the strain grew bold 

and strong, — 
Like things of life within his heart did Memory's- 

quick thoughts throng : 
Louder and stronger swelled the strain, like a river 

in its course ; 
From his couch the Chieftain started, — "To horse V* 

he cried, "to horse!" 
And proudly, like a warrior, waved his sword above 

his head : 
One onward step — one gurgling gasp — and the Chie* 

is of the Dead ! 
The harper changed his strain to grief: the Coro- 
nach was thine, 
Who died, as thou hadst lived, a Man, oh mighty 

Geraldine ! 



CAPTAIN EOCK 



•CHAPTER I. 

THE WAKE. 

The year 1822 was remarkable for being what 
in Ireland was called " A Whiteboy Year." Kents 
were only paid by compulsion. Tithes were not 
paid at all. Wages were low. The price of food 
was high. The middleman system had been on the 
increase, year after year, until the land and people 
were crushed under it. The priests from the altar, 
and O'Connell, from the tribune and through the 
press, earnestly argued the masses not to rebel, no 
matter how great the aggravation, how intense the 
despair, and the advice had great weight in most 
instances. Many causes combined to render the 
peasantry ripe for revolt. — As, on one side, there 
were not wanting men able and willing to act as 
leaders in any popular movement ; so, on the other, 
there was no lack of Government spies to fan the 
flame, to cajole the peasantry into breaches of the 
law, and to betray those whom they thus had 
duped. 



152 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

The discontented and disaffected were principally 
concentrated in my native county of Limerick. From 
time to time, the military force in that county had 
been augmented, until, at the particular period in 
question (1822), there were several regiments of in- 
fantry, and at least one of cavalry, on harassing 
duty. What between still-hunting (for the manu-. 
facture of mountain-dew was then in full operation) 
and man-hunting, the military had full occupation 
day and night. Various pretexts were used, also, 
to weary the military, by putting them upon a 
false scent, every now and then, so that the 
service was particularly severe and fatiguing. 
Added to the military array was the Constabulary 
force, introduced by the late Sir Eobert (then Mr.) 
Peel, while Secretary for Ireland, the members of 
which, after his name, have obtained the sobriquet 
of " Peelers." An active and efficient body of men 
these Peelers were, and are, although the force, from 
its original establishment, has been unpopular in 
Ireland — probably owing to its very activity and 
efficiency. Be this as it may, it is undeniable that 
while the bulk of the Irish people, of all classes, cor- 
dially have fraternized with the soldiery, they have 
ever manifested a strong dislike to the police. This 
unfriendly feeling, too, has sometimes been fostered 
by many who, from their station, might be expected 
to entertain gratitude, and exercise courtesy, towards 
these protectors of their lives and property. 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 153 

Whiteboy ism continued to increase, notwithstand- 
ing the strong military and police force poured into 
the district. Detachments of infantry were quar- 
tered in almost every hamlet — the cavalry, called 
"here, there, and everywhere," upon true and false 
alarms, were dreadfully overworked. At last, as a 
necessary matter of protection, two or three Peelers 
were quartered in almost every respectable country 
house in certain disturbed baronies. The whole 
county was in a dreadful state of alarm, excite- 
ment, and activity. The newspapers, of course, 
were filled with reports and rumors of all kinds, and 
the Whiteboy doings in the South of Ireland had 
even the honor of being spoken of, in no very com- 
plimentary terms, in both Houses of Parliament. 

These Whiteboy movements, although not con- 
fined to one part of the county Limerick, were re- 
marked as chiefly occurring on that side which is 
bordered by the county Cork. In a little time, they 
might be said to radiate from a particular district, 
spreading into what, from its extent, has been called 
"The Yorkshire of Ireland." As they increased, 
more troops were called in, to subdue insurrection 
and enforce order. All this was in vain. A regular 
guerilla warfare began to prevail, chiefly for the 
purpose of obtaining the arms of the military and 
police. 

It became no uncommon event for a' sentry, at a 
■country station, to be quietly picked out by the 
7* 



154 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

steady hand and sure aim of a Whiteboy — the shot 
which gave his death being at once the sole an- 
nouncement and fatal evidence of the tragic deed^ 
The service thus became so desperate that there arose 
An evident reluctance, on the part of the military, to 
continue on such alarming and perilous duty. De- 
sertions became frequent. On the other hand, the 
police doggedly did their duty. Of a much higher 
grade than the ordinary rank and file of the army— 
for no man was allowed to enter or remain in the 
force without an excellent character and a certairt 
degree of education — they had a high estimate of 
their duty, and a stubborn determination to perform 
it. They knew, also, that the peasantry hated 
them, and that even the thankless gentry, whom, 
they protected, did not bear any affectionate regard 
for them. 

The Kifle Brigade was on duty, in the disturbed 
district, at the time which I have mentioned. The 
officer in command was Major Eeles, an English 
port-drinking officer of the old school, who had fixed 
his own quarters at The Grove (near Ballingarry,). 
formerly the seat of Colonel Odell, the member for 
the county, and remarkable as being the father of 
about twenty sons, by one wife. The most fatiguing 
and unpleasant office which the soldiers had to per- 
form was that of night-patrolling. The laws of that 
time were harsh — indeed, like all other Coercion 
Acts, they had been expressly framed to put down 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 155- 

the disturbances — and provided that; the mere fact 
of a man's being found out of his house, between 
sunrise and sunset, should be punishable with seven 
years' transportation. This severe enactment put a 
great check, of course, upon nocturnal predatory 
gatherings, but many an innocent "man suffered from 
the harshness of the law. A strong feeling of hos- 
tility arose against the Rifle corps, for their activity 
in apprehending the suspected. This was greatly 
augmented by what / under any circumstances, might 
be considered an ''untoward event." One of the 
peasantry had been met on the high road after dark, 
and challenged by the patrol. Not giving a satis 
factory answer, his instant apprehension was ordered 
by the officer in command. Attempting to escape, 
he was in the act of jumping across a deep drain 
which divided the high-road from the bog, w r hen a. 
sergeant drew a pistol from his belt and shot him on 
the spot. 

The unfortunate man was not a Whiteboy. On 
the contrary, he had steadily resisted the solicita 
tions of many neighbours who were. He had seen 
better days, and had received rather a good educa- 
tion. Knowing the peril of joining the illegal com. 
binations, and daring the danger of being considered 
lukewarm in what was called "the cause of his 
country," he had kept himself aloof from proceed- 
ings, which he did not approve of, but scorned to 
betray. His family had been subjected, for months ■■ 



156 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

past, to the severe privations which poverty causes 
everywhere, but particularly in Ireland. His wife 
had been extremely ill, and on her sudden change 
for the worse, his affection had naturally got the 
worse of his personal fear, and he had ventured out) 
after dusk, to solicit the aid of the nearest dispensary 
doctor, when, challenged by the militarj^, he sought 
safety in flight, and had met with his untimely fate 
as I have described. 

Those who know anything of the peculiar customs 
•of the South of Ireland, must be aware that the 
peasantry have especial delight in doing honor to 
the dead. To celebrate a "wake" is, with them, a 
social duty. They usually take that mode of testi- 
fying, in a merry mood, their grief for the departed. 
The unfortunate victim of military impetuosity was 
carried to the nearest public-house on the way-side ; 
.and when it. was related how he had lost his life, 
"curses not loud/but deep," most unequivocally in- 
dicated the popular feeling that he was a murdered 
man. Nor was this feeling mitigated by the "justi- 
fiable homicide" verdict of the Coroner's jury. 

Entertaining such opinions, it was not likely that 
his relatives and friends would solicit as a favor, at 
the hands of his slayers, "leave to keep the wake." 
They did not ask it. Perhaps they had little feai 
that, in the present instance, their ancient and time- 
honoured custom would be interfered with. Accord- 
ingly they took leave, and a numerous concourse of 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 157" 

cue people assembled, after dusk, on the day of the 
inquest, in the cabin of the deceased. 

To one who Jovecl the picturesque, the scene 
would have been interesting, for it contained all 
variety of countenance, costume, and manner. But 
it possessed an mtenser and far deeper interest for 
him who had studied the human heart, its passionate 
throes, its indignant feelings, its wild energies, its 
strong convulsions, its lacerated affections. There 
lay the corpse, a crucifix at its head and twelve 
mould candles on a table at its feet. By the bed- 
side knelt the widow — actually, by an unnatural 
excitement, rendered temporarily convalescent by 
the sharp fact that she had lost the husband of her 
heart. By the corpse, on the opposite side, sat their 
only child, a lad of few years, apparently uncon- 
scious of the extent of the calamity which thus early 
had orphaned him. A professional Keener (like 
the " hired wailing women " of Scripture) was ranged 
on either side of the deceased, awaiting a full audi- 
ence for the similated grief, and now and then mut- 
tering fragments of their intended Lament. Around 
the humble apartment — for the peasant's cabin con- 
sisted of only a single room — were ranges of stools, 
three deep, and here and there were deal tables, on 
which were placed tobacco-pipes, and "the mate- 
rials" for the refreshment and enjoyment which, by 
a strange contrast with the awful occasion which 
called them together, were considered indispensable. 



158 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Such a thiu g as a dry Wake would indeed have 
been an anomaly, there and then. 

The friends of the dead man dropped in stealthily, 
and at intervals — for there was some uncertainty 
whether the military "would permit such an assem 
Wage. Before long the room was crowded, all fear 
of being interfered with gradually vanished, and the 
party, albeit assembled on a melancholy occasion, 
soon glided into conversation, smoking, and drink. 

There was no merriment, however, for the cir- 
cumstances under which they met forbade it — so 
early in the night. Their conversation was in a 
hushed tone. The comparative stillness every now 
and then became positive when they noticed the 
voiceless sorrow of the poor widow, as, pale and 
emaciated by suffering of mind and body, she knelt 
)y the dead, holding his clay -cold hand, and, her 
3yes fixed upon his comely face, now pallid with 
■the hue of mortality, and placid in repose as that of 
a sleeping infant. At intervals, there rose the 
melancholy and eloquent wail of the Keeners' wild 
poetry, in the native language of the auditors, deeply 
impassioned, and full of the breathing indignation 
which stirs men's minds to such a pitch of excite 
ment that they come forth from the listening fitted 
for almost any deed of daring. 

The Keen told how the dead man had won the 
hearts of all who knew him — how he had excelled 
-his companions in the sports of youth and the athletic 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 159 

■exercises of manhood — how, at pattern, fair, or dance, 
he still maintained his superiority — how his was the 
open heart and liberal hand — how he had won hie 
first love, the pride of their native village, and 
-married her — how, when a shadow fell upon their 
fortunes, that loved one lightened, by sharing, the 
burthen, the struggle, and the grief — how, amid the 
desolation, her gentle smile ever made a soft sunshine 
in their home — how, a victim without a crime, he had 
fallen in the noon of life — how there remained his 
young boy to remember, and, it might be, one day 
to avenge his murder — how every man who was 
present would protect and sustain the widow and 
the orphan of/ him whom they had loved so well — 
and how, come it soon or late, a day would arrive 
when expiation must be made for the foul deed which 
had sent an innocent man to an untimely grave. 

As the chief Keener chanted this Lament, in the 
expressive and figurative language of their native 
Ireland, the hearts of her auditory throbbed with 
-deep and varying emotions — sorrow swelled into the 
deeper sense of injury — wild indignation flushed the 
cheek of manhood — and hand was clasped in hand 
with' a fierce pressure, in well-understood pledge of 
sorrow for the dead, hatred for his slayers, and stern 
Tesolve of vengeance. 

About ten o'clock, the door slowly opened, and a 
tall man, apparelled in the loose great-coat, or coat-a- 
more, which forms the principal dress of the peasantry 



160 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

in that district, stood for some minutes on the thres- 
hold, an interested but unobserved spectator. When 
he was perceived, many rose to offer him a seat, which 
he declined, and soon all voices joined in a common 
cry of " Welcome, Captain ! A thousand and a hun- 
dred thousand welcomes !" 

The stranger returned the salutation cordially and 
briefly, and advanced gravely and slowly to where 
the dead man lay. He gazed upon the face for some 
time, and then, laying his hand on that cold, pallid, 
brow, said, in a tone of deep, concentrated feeling, — 
" Farewell, John Sheehan ! Yours has been a hard 
fate, but better than remains for us — to be hunted 
down, like wild beasts, and sent, after the mockery 
of a trial, from the homes of our fathers, to a far-off 
land, where even the slavery they doom us to is better 
than the troubled life we linger in, from which caprice 
or cruelty may hurry us in a moment. Farewell, 
then ; but, by the bright Heaven above us, and the 
green fields around, I swear to know no rest until 
bitter vengeance be taken for this most wanton and 
barbarous murther." 

His cheek flushed — his eyes flashed — his frame 
trembled with strong emotion as he sternly made 
this vow, and, when he ceased to speak, a deep 
" Amen" was murmured all around by the eager- 
eyed men, who hung upon his slightest word with 
as trusting and entire a faith as ever did the followers 
of the Veiled Prophet upon the mystic revelations 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 161 

•which promised them glory upon earth, and eternal 
happiness in heaven ! The widow, roused from the 
abstraction of grief by this solemn and striking in- 
cident, looked the thanks which she then had not 
voice to utter. When the Stranger laid his hand on 
the orphan's head, and said : " He shall be my care, 
and as I deal by him may God deal by me I" her 
long-repressed tears gushed forth, in a strong hysteric 
agony, which was not subdued until her child was 
placed within her earnest embrace, and kissed again 
and again — with the widowed mother's solacing 
thought, there yet remained one for whom to live. 

Turning from the corpse, the Stranger took his 
seat among the humble but loving people "in that 
lowly cabin. He was of large mould, with a bold, 
quick glance, and an air of intelligence superior to 
his apparent station. It was singular that his ap- 
pearance among them, while it ardently awakened 
their respectful attention, had chilled and checked 
the company. After a pause, one of them ventured 
to hint that the first allowance of liquor had been 
drank out, so that "there did not remain an egg- 
shellful to drink the health of the Captain." There 
was a murmur of applause at the remark. Thus 
encouraged, another ventured to suggest that a fresh 
supply be provided, at the general expense of the 
company — the gallantry of the men excepting the 
fair sex from any share in the payment. The neces- 
sary amount was speedily collected, and a supply oi 



162 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

whiskey (which had not condescended to acknow- 
ledge the reigning dynasty by any contribution to 
the excise duties) was procured from the next shebeen 
• — an unlicensed depot for the sale of "mountain 
dew," — and placed upon the table. 

The stranger, who had appeared quite unobservant 
of this proceeding, and who — on the principle that 
"silence gives consent" — had even been supposed 
rather to sanction than condemn it, suddenly inter- 
rupted the hilarious arrangements thus commenced. 
He started up and exclaimed — "Is it thus, and 
always thus, that I am to find you? — the slaves 
and victims of your besotted senses. Is there any- 
thing to be done ? I look for the man to do it, and 
find him sunk in drunkenness. Is a secret to be 
kept ? — it is blabbed on the highway, to the ruin of 
a good cause, by the man who suffers drink to steal 
away his reason. When I lie down to sleep, I can 
dream of ruin only, for this subtle devil can tempt 
the truest into a traitor. And now, with the hour 
of triumph at hand — the rich hope of vengeance 
near fulfilment — there is not a man among you, 
bound to me as you are, heart and hand, soul and 
body, who would not surrender the victory and the 
vengeance, if he were only allowed to drink on until 
he had reduced himself to a level with the senseless 
brute. Give me that liquor." 

His command was instantly obeyed, for he had 
rare ascendancy over the minds of those who ac- 



CAPTA1JS ROCK. 163 

knowledged him as their leader. Dashing the vessel 
-violently on the hard earthen floor, he broke it, and 
■every drop of its contents — the " fire-water" of the 
American aborigines — was spilled. " There," he 
•cried, " who serves with me, must obey me. When 
a deed is to be done, I will have obedience. When 
the deed is done — drink, if you will, and when you 
will. But when service is to be performed, you shall 
•be sober." 

Not a syllable of dissent — not a murmur of dis- 
content fell from the lips of those who heard him. 
JSTot a gesture — not a look — indicated anger at what 
he had done. 

" Mark me, my lads," he added. " I have arranged 
all beyond the chance of defeat. I have contrived to 
turn the main strength of the soldiers on a wrong 
scent four miles on the other side of Charleville. I 
have laid my plans so that we cannot be disappointed, 
except through some fault of our own. Let us on to 
Churchtown Barracks. The sergeant, by whose rash 
and ready hand our friend has died, remains there 
with a handful of his comrades. He was sent thither 
to escape us. Fools' as if, for those who have a 
wrong to avenge, any spot can be too remote. Let 
us seize him, and give him the doom he gave the 
innocent. If they resist, we can fire the barracks, 
and burn them in their nest. But they will never 
be so mad as to offer resistance to such a force as 
•ours, when we tell that we want only that one man. 



164 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

If they do — their blood be upon their own heads^ 
"Who joins me? Who will follow to the cry of 
'On to Churchtown?' Now is the long-desired 
hour of revenge. Will any lag behind?" 

Every man present repeated the cry — "On to 
Churchtown!" Some of the women also joined 
in it. 

The Whiteboys and their leader left the cabin.. 
An ancient crone, almost a reputed witch, and cer- 
tainly known to be by far the oldest woman in the 
district, hobbled after them as far as the door, and 
threw her shoe after them — "for luck!" 

Many a " God speed them" was breathed after thai- 
company of avengers by } r oung and fair women. 
What Lord Bacon has called "the wild justice of 
revenge," and what America recognizes in the unseen 
but omnipotent incarnation of Judge Lynch, was 
necessarily the rule of action when injured Right 
took arms against tyrannic Might. Is it surprising 
that such should be the case ? If wrongdoers can- 
not always be rewarded, "each according unto his. 
works," within and by the law, why should not their 
impunity be broken down by the rational sense of 
justice which abides in the minds of men ? 

Forth on their mission, therefore, did the White- 
boys speed. Hurrying across the bog, they reached_ 
a farm which was almost isolated amid the black 
waste from which it had been indifferently reclaimed,. 
They drew muskets, pistols, and pikes from the turf- 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 165 

crick in which they had been concealed. Some ot 
them brought old swords, and scythe-blades attached 
•to pike-handles (very formidable weapons in the hands 
■of strong, angry men), from hiding-places in the bog 
itself. Stealthily, and across by paths unknown to 
;and inaccessible to the military, that wild gang, " with 
-whom Revenge was virtue," pushed forward for the 
-•attack on Churchtown Barracks. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE LEADER. 

Stealthily and in silence the Whiteboys pro- 
ceeded to the scene of intended operation. Not 
•a word was spoken — not a sound heard, except the 
noise of their footsteps whenever they got on the 
high road. As much as possible they avoided the 
.highway, the course which would the soonest bring 
them to the appointed place. It would seem as if 
their leader had bound them together, by some 
spell peculiarly their own, to yield implicit and un- 
questioned obedience to his imperious will. It 
strongly illustrated the aphorism — 

■ l Those who think must govern those who toil." 

Whoever knows how lively and mercurial is the 



166 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

natural temperament of the peasantry in the South 
of Ireland, must be aware of the difficulty of re- 
straining them from loud-voiced talking in the open 
air ; but now not one of that large and excited 
gathering spoke above his breath. Their leader 
commanded them to be silent, and to them his will 
was law. 

Who was that leader? The question involves- 
some mystery which it may be as well to unveil 
before proceeding with the action of this narrative. 

Who, and whence was that leader? His birth 
would have secured him a "respectable" station in. 
society, if his wild passions, and the strong pressure 
of Circumstance (that unspiritual god), had not so far 

" Profaned his spirit, sank his brow," 

that the ambition which, under better auspices, might, 
have soared to the highest aims, was now directed 
no farther than to establish an unstable dominion 
over a few wild, uncultivated peasants, who, like' 
fire and water, might be excellent servants, but 
with any opportunity of domination would probably 
prove tyrannic masters. He who would rule the- 
rude peasantry of Ireland, must make up his mind 
to be governed by them in turn, whenever his 
wishes and aims and actions fall short of theirs.. 
They will go with him while his desires and designs 
run together with their own, but they will speedily 
leave him behind, or force him with them, if they 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 167 

find him less eager than themselves. Even under 
die regular discipline of the army the same may be 
observed. In battle an Irish regiment cannot, or 
rather will not, understand any order to retreat. 
They repudiate all strategy which even appears to 
withdraw them from 

" The triumph and the vanity, 
The rapture of the strife," 

and show, by the gallant impetuosity with which 
they plunge into the attack, that their proper action 
is assault. If so under the harsh restrictions of 
military discipline, what must it be when freed from 
that coercion ? 

The leader of the Whiteboys in 1822 — the ver- 
itable Captain" Kock, whom I have introduced at 
the Wake of the slain John Sheehan — was no com- 
mon man. His birth had been respectable, his edu- 
cation good, his fortune had been ample, his mind 
was affluent in varied and vigorous resources; he 
had formerly won favor and fame from the world's 
opinion, and few men in any country could com- 
pete with him in the personal advantages which 
spring from manly beauty of form and feature, ac- 
tivity of body, and a strength of frame w hich liter - 
ally defied fatigue and over-exertion. 

The father of John Cussen was "a gentleman of 
independent fortune," in Irish parlance; that is, had 
succeeded to a pretty good estate, and would have 



168 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

been in easy, if not affluent circumstances, could he 
have realized any thing like the nominal amount ot 
his rent-roll. But there were two difficulties, at 
least. Irish estates have had a fatal facility in be- 
coming subjected to such things as mortgages, which 
relentlessly absorb certain annual amounts in the 
shape of interest, and Irish tenants have been apt to 
cherish the idea that they perform their duty towards 
society in general, and themselves in particular, by 
paying as little rent as possible. Still, though Mr. 
Cussen's property had gradually come under the 
pressure of these two causes, it yielded an income 
sufficient for his moderate wants. His children had 
died, one by one, in the very bloom and promise of 
their youth, until, out of a numerous family, only 
one son survived. 

This youth, possessing a mind more active and 
aspirations more ambitious than most of his class, 
disdained the ordinary routine of every-day life. It 
was not difficult to persuade his father to permit 
him to go into the world — the military and naval 
service, from its danger, being the only profession 
which that doting parent positively forbade him to 
think of. The lad, after wavering for some time, 
determined to become a surgeon, and proceeded to 
pursue his studies in Dublin. 

It would be tedious to narrate into what a circle 
of extravagance, while thus engaged, the young 
man became gradually involved ; it would be pain- 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 169 

ful to trace his downward lapse from folly to vice. 
Sufficient to say that, by the time he received his 
diploma as a surgeon (having passed his examina. 
tions with unexpected and even distinguished suc- 
cess), he had contrived to involve himself so deeply 
that his paternal property had to be additionally 
mortgaged to relieve him from heavy involvements. 
His father, who might have repudiated the cred- 
itors' claims, admitted them, without a murmur. 
Eager to snatch him from the haunts and the society 
by which he had embarrassed his means and in- 
jured his health, and looking on the military ser- 
vice as a good school of discipline, even if it were 
not free from peril, his father overcame all personal 
scruples, forgave the past, and looking hopefully at 
the future, successfully employed his influence to 
•obtain for him an appointment as surgeon to one of 
the regiments which, just then, had been ordered to 
Belgium, as the re-appearance of Napoleon, and his 
triumphant progress from Elba to Paris — his eagle 
41 flying from steeple to steeple until it alighted on 
the tower of Notre Dame " — had awakened the fears 
and enmity of Europe, bringing once more into action 

" All quality, 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war." 

It was John Cussen's fortune to reach the scene of 
warfare in time to witness the deadly struggle at 
Waterloo. But it was his hap, also, to do more 
8 



170 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

than witness it. He performed an act of heroism 
on the field, which not only gained him high and 
merited praise, but had powerful influence upon his- 
future prospects. 

Military discipline very properly provides that, 
the surgeons of a regiment shall not take part in any 
engagement on the field. The lives of so many 
may depend upon the skill of even a single surgeon 
that it would be inconvenient, to say the best of it, 
if, when his aid were promptly required, during an. 
encounter, it were found that he had allowed his 
ardor to carry him into the actual peril of the strife. 

Cussen was sufficiently near to witness the greater- 
part of the contest on the day of Waterloo. It was 
not without difficulty that his quick Irish spirit 
could control the almost overwhelming desire to- 
plunge into the middle of the contest — which, on 
that day, had more single encounters than any since 
Poictiers and Agincourt. As he stood outside a 
tent which had been placed for the use of the medi- 
cal staff, in the rear of the British position, he ob- 
served an English officer, on an unmanageable 
charger (bearing him along with an impetuous 
speed, which, having received a severe wound in 
the bridle-arm, he could neither control nor check), 
followed by a French cuirassier, who had nearly 
overtaken him. Another moment and the uplifted 
sabre would have struck the helpless man to the- 
ground. Cussen rushed forward, literally tore the: 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 171 

Frenchman from his saddle, by main strength, and, 
wresting the sword from his hand, gave him a death- 
wound. Quick as thought, turning from the fallen 
foe and bounding forward with an agility which he 
had acquired on his native hills, Cussen followed the 
swift horse, and succeeded, by a strong and over- 
mastering grasp, in checking its speed. In its rider, 
he recognized his own Colonel, whose life he had 
thus doubly saved, and received a grateful assurance 
that his service should not be forgotten. 

Having dressed the Colonel's wounds, Cussen re- 
sumed his position in the rear. — But inaction was. 
terrible to one whose spirit had been awakened to 
the excitement before him — for "quiet to quick 
bosoms is a bane." Nearer and nearer became his. 
involuntary approach to that part of the place in 
which the contest was hotly proceeding. At last,, 
unable any longer to resist the passionate impulse, 
he mounted on one of the many war-steeds which 
were wildly galloping over the battle-field, caught 
the eye of the officer whom he had rescued, rushed 
forward to join the melee, and bravely fought side 
by side with him, when the "Up, Guards, and at 
them!" of Wellington urged on the soldiers to that 
last terrific charge which shook the imperial diadem 
from the brow of the first Napoleon. 

A gallant deed, even though it violate the strict 
rides of military discipline, is not considered a very 
heinous offence by any commander. So, while his- 



172 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Colonel liailed John Cussen as preserver, the brief 
lapse of duty as a surgeon was forgiven, in consider* 
ation of his chivalry as a soldier. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

The war ended. Napoleon fell. St. Helena re- 
ceived the imperial exile. On this lonely rock, far 
out in the Atlantic, the chained Prometheus suffered 
a punishment worse than death — Sir Hudson Lowe 
being the vulture which continually struck, to prey 
upon, his heart. 

The conclusion of the war influenced the fortunes 
•of others besides its greatest victim. The battalion 
in which Cussen had served was reduced, and, with 
many others, his occupation was gone. While yet 
uncertain what course to pursue, he received an invi- 
tation from his late Colonel, very urgently pressing 
him to visit the veteran at his country seat in Hamp- 
shire ; and thither he proceeded. 

Cussen, it may here be stated, was what old crones 
(who are good judges of such things, knowing "a 
hawk from a hernshaw") would simply and expres- 
sively describe as " a very personable man." He 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 173 

was in the spring of early manhood. He had the 
advantage, whatever that might be, of gentle blood; 
he had received a good education ; he had distin- 
guished himself in the greatest battle of the age ; 
above all, he had saved the life of the gallant officer 
whose guest he was. What wonder, therefore, if, 
before he had been quite a month at Walton Hall, 
the bright eyes of Miss Walton beamed yet more 
brightly when they met his admiring glances. 

The lady was young — not decidedly lovely, per- 
haps, but that most charming of all charming crea- 
tures, a thoroughly English beauty. She might not 
immediately dazzle, but she was sure always to de- 
light. It was impossible to see and not admire her. 
Besides, she had been largely endowed with intel- 
lect by bounteous nature, and had also been well 
educated, carefully rather than brilliantly. With 
an undeniable dash of romance in her character, she 
was so pure in heart and thought, that the very 
novelty of such purity threw such a spell of enchant- 
ment upon the fevered passion of John Cussen, that 
literally, for the first time in his life, his soul was 
subdued into a tenderness which contrasted strange- 
ly, but not unpleasantly, with the wild tumults — 
rather of sense than soul — which, in former days, he 
had been wont to dignify with the name of Love. 

When he ascertained such to be the state of his 
own feelings, he became very anxious to learn 
whether Alice Walton was affected in like manner. 



I 

174 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Her impressions appeared to be very much as lie 
-desired, for, kissing that fair cheek, which 

" Blushed at the praise of its own loveliness,' 

and whispering hope to her anxious ear, he pro- 
ceeded to explain to her father all that he felt — to 
solicit his sanction for the love which, but just con- 
fessed to each other, had suddenly been matured by 
that confession into a passion at once deep and 
ardent. 

Alice Walton was an only child. What other 
result, then, can be anticipated than the usual one — 
the favorable reception of the avowal made by Cus- 
sen? Affection raises few difficulties where the hap- 
piness of the beloved is felt to be deeply involved. 
It is questionable whether, on that evening, a hap- 
pier group could have been found anywhere within 
the limits of "merry England." The old soldier, 
pleased with the opportunity of keeping his gallant 
preserver with him while also securing the happi- 
ness of his daughter ; — the young man exulting in 
his conquest, proud of the personal and mental en- 
dowments of his lady-love, and firmly resolving never 
to give her any cause to repent having yielded to 
the trusting affection which her guileless nature had 
formed for him ; — the maiden herself, with the day- 
dream of love making an almost visible atmosphere 
of joy around her heart, softly yielded to glad and 
.genial anticipations of a happy future. Well is it 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 175 

that Woman's heart can thus luxuriate in imagina- 
tion, for, in many cases, the romance of their love 
is far brighter than the reality ever proves to be. 

Some arrangements which were to be made re- 
specting his family property, and a natural desire 
personally to communicate his favorable prospects 
to his father, required that Cussen, now an accepted 
suitor, should proceed to Ireland for a short time. 

Imagine the parting. The endearing caresses — 
the gentle beseechings for full and frequent let- 
ters — the soft promises as to faithful remembrances 
— the whispers of that mutual affection upon which 
a few brief months would put the seal — and the 
"Farewell," which, though dewed with tears, had 
not very much of real sorrow in it, so sweetly did it 
realize the expressive lines of the poet, of the part- 
ing, though sad, which 

" Brought the hope that the morrow 
Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again !" 

Cussen arrived in Ireland just in time to see his 
father die, and to learn that old involvements, and 
the early extravagance in which himself had rioted, 
had reduced their estate to a nominal income. The 
greater part of its produce had been swallowed up by 
interest payable to the mortgagees, who, from time to 
time, had advanced money on the property. In this 
dilemma, Cussen did, from impulse, what, had he 
acted simply on calculation only, would have been 



176 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

the very best thing for him. Without loss of time,, 
he frankly communicated with Colonel Walton on 
this unpromising condition and aspect of his affairs 
.and prospects — assured him that, when he sued for 
his daughter's hand, he had not the least idea that 
he was so near the condition of a ruined man — that 
his father, when discharging the liabilities in which 
his early extravagance had involved him, had never 
breathed a syllable of the price at which they were 
to be swept away — that, almost beggared as he now 
was, he felt himself, in a worldly point of view, any- 
thing but a match for Alice — and that, while, with 
a breaking heart, he absolved her from the tender 
vows which she had made, he still cherished a hope 
that even yet, pass a few years, he might be able to 
achieve a position, by the exercise of his talents, 
which, once again, would permit him, on a more- 
equal footing than at present, to solicit a renewal of 
their betrothal. The Colonel was brief and decisive.. 
He thanked Cusseii for his frank and honourable con- 
duct, assuring him that Alice, as well as himself, fully 
appreciated his motives ; declared that for his daugh- 
ter's sake, as well as his own, he was unwilling to 
relinquish the intended alliance with his preserver 
and friend ; and liberally gave the kindest promises 
of such full and immediate assistance aa would spee- 
dily relieve the estate from its encv^m^ianoer — 
should it indeed be thought expedient t<i T^t£> ^V 



CAPTAIN KOCK. 177 

the reversion of the invaluable Walton Hall prop- 
erty inalienably belonging to Alice. 

Before, by the fulfilment of this promise, Cussen's 
"brighter prospects could be realized, "the tenth 
ware of human misery swept" over his heart. There 
<:ams a sad reverse. I am acquainted with all the 
details, but they are too melancholy to be related 
here. Let it be sufficient to say that Alice Walton 
and her father met with a sudden and tragic doom. 
By an accident, the origin of which was suspected, 
but never ascertained, their residence was consumed 
by fire — father and daughter perishing in the flames. 
The estate passed, in due course of law, to the next 
of kin, with whom Cussen had no acquaintance, and 
upon whom he had no claim In due course of law, 
also, the mortgages on Cussen's own property were 
foreclosed. He was a ruined man. 

The cup of misery overflowed. Yery bitter did 
Cussen find the draught. Hopes blighted — the 
golden promise of his young manhood wholly de- 
stroyed — station utterly lost — Poverty with her feet 
upon his hearthstone — all that made the value of 
life swept away at once. Amid the maddening 
whirl of such contending emotions as this desolation 
caused, no wonder if even his strong mind and large 
frame bowed beneath the shock. 

Months passed by, and bodily health was in a 
measure restored. But the mind did not recover its 
elastic- spring. Sunk in the torpor of despair, John 
8* 



178 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Cussen was a broken mau. Then came the reaction, 
after a time, and then he awoke to the sad reality of 
life. Better far had he continued unconscious or 
despairing. He might have been miserable, but he 
would- have been unstained by guilt. Gradually, he 
found a Lethe for his sad thoughts, by passing " the 
Kubicon of the cup." At first, while this was being 
done in secret, the neighboring gentry made many 
efforts to arrange his affairs, liberate him from his 
more pressing pecuniary involvements, and give him 
the opportunity of realizing an adequate income by 
the practice of his profession. Each proffered kind- 
ness was rejected. He sat, another Timon, with his 
household gods shivered around him. 

This could not long continue — for man cannot live 
without society. By degrees Cussen returned to the 
haunts and the companionship of man. Had he kept 
within the pale of his own class, perhaps all might 
still have been well. But a change had passed over 
and darkened his mind. He fancied that scorn sat 
upon the lip and glanced from the eye of every one 
more wealthy than himself, and thus Pride guided 
the arrow which Poverty barbed. He shunned the 
society of those to whom, in all save wealth, he had 
been equal, at the very least, and he found a conso- 
lation in the company of those who, remembering 
his birth (and in no place is that memory so well 
retained as in Ireland), would have considered him 
as their superior, even if, like them, he had to til) 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 179 

the earth for a bare subsistence. Thus, by a slow 
but certain process of deterioration, John Cussen — 
once the pride of the order of fashion and wealth in 
his native country — gradually became the associate 
of the ignorant and excitable peasantry. 

Mixing with these poor people, — then, as ever, 
■dissatisfied with their condition, and eagerly anxious 
for any change which seemed to promise better 
days and brighter fortunes, — Cussen soon became 
thoroughly identified with their feelings. Hating 
oppression, believing that the peasantry were greatly 
wronged by absentee landlords, oppressive middle- 
men, and an exacting " Church as by law estab- 
lished," he allowed himself to be seduced into the 
secret and illegal association of the Whiteboys. The 
homage which they paid to his birth and education, 
gave him more satisfaction than, at first, he ventured 
to own, even to himself. His pride was soothed by 
finding himself yet looked up to by any class. The 
energy of his character returned (in part), and as- 
suming strong and unquestioned command over the 
disaffected peasantry, he became one of their most 
powerful leaders. Quick in mental resources, supe- 
rior in physical strength, his influence over his fol- 
lowers was very great. Entire obedience was yielded 
to his commands, and (as in the present instance, 
when he undertook to lead the attack upon Church- 
town Barracks) his presence was deemed sufficient 
to insure the success of any enterprise, however 



180 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

daring. In all this, however, it is scarcely doubtfu. 
that John Cussen's actions were those of a man whose 
mind had lost its balance. Sorrow and suffering had 
touched his brain, and perhaps this was the vent which 
prevented actual insanity. 

There was "method in his madness," however, 
for when he entered upon this wild and secret career,, 
he took care that the movements which he person- 
ally guided should be remote from that part of the 
country in which he was best known. He strictly 
forbade any of his troops to indulge in drink, when- 
ever their co-operation was required, and on all ex- 
peditions which he personally led (chiefly for the 
purpose of obtaining fire-arms from the houses of 
country gentlemen) he suited his attire to that of. 
his companions, and so complete was the disguise,, 
that none could recognize John Cussen as the dreaded 
Captain Kock, who scattered terror wherever he 
moved. 

The remarkable fidelity which the Irish peasantry 
make it at once a matter of duty and pride to pay to 
their leaders against the law, was Cussen's chief pro- 
tection. His secret was well kept. None of the 
gentry of the county had the slightest suspicion 
that Cussen, in whom many of them still professed 
to take an interest, was in any way mixed up — far 
less as a leader — with the Whiteboy movements- 
which caused them so much alarm. 

Such was John Cussen, whom we left leading a 



CAPTAIN EOCK. 181 

goodly company of Whiteboys to the attack on 
Churchtown Barracks, a military position of much 
strength and some importance. 



CHAPTER IY. 

THE ATTACK ON CHURCHTOWN BARRACKS. 

The Whiteboys, and their leader, reached Church- 
town Barracks about midnight. All was silent when 
they arrived, except the measured step of the senti- 
nel. Darkness covered all things as with a pall. 
But Cussen knew every inch of the ground, and the 
■darkness, instead of being an impediment, was rather 
auxiliary to his purpose. He posted his men in 
a favorable position, and, within ten minutes of their 
arrival, everything was ready, and every one fully 
instructed as to his particular line of action, and was 
prepared for the manner of the attack. 

Churchtown Barracks, in the centre of a very dis- 
turbed district, had formerly been the residence of a 
private gentleman. When life and property had 
become insecure, afraid of the doom of Major Going, 
! he had fled the country. Major Going, who had 
been not only agent to the great Courtenay estates 
•(Lord Devon's), but also a magistrate, had made him- 
self unpopular in both capacities. He would have 



182 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

the rent duly paid at the appointed day, and he- 
sometimes went out of his way, from excess of zeal, 
to show his vigilance as a dispenser of justice, under 
the law. After many warnings, which only made- 
him more exacting and more severe, he was assassi- 
nated. His successor, a gentleman named Hoskins,. 
followed the same track — dignified by the name 01 
" the path of duty," — and shared the same doom. 
Not without warning, for, weeks before that doom 
was inflicted, he had heard even his own laborers 
chaunt the Whiteboy doggerel — 

" Hoskins and Going 
Are nearly one, — 
Hoskins is Going, 
And Going is gone ! " 

The noon-day assassination of two such active- 
magistrates, and the increase of predial insurrection, 
in the counties of Cork and Limerick, so impera- 
tively called for the allocation of a large and perma- 
nent military force at places in or near the disturbed 
localities, that the Irish Government gladly occupied 
Churchtown House, at a high rent, as temporary 
barracks. For some months previous to the night 
when Cussen and his men appeared before it, several 
companies of infantry, and two troops of cavalry,. 
had been stationed at Churchtown, whence, on the- 
requisj 'ion of a magistrate, detachments might be 



CAPTAIN KOCK. 183 

detailed for duty, in more or less force, as circum- 
stances might appear to require. 

With the strategy of a clever leader, Cussen had 
contrived to render the place comparatively defence- 
less, by having notices sent to the officer left in com- 
mand, that there was to be a midnight assemblage 
of Whiteboys on the other side of Charleville, and 
that an attack, to obtain arms, was to be made on a 
gentleman's residence not far beyond. A strong de- 
tachment of infantry and cavalry was sent off, to 
'arrest the midnight conclave, and to defend the house 
which was to be the object of attack. 

The notice which thus put the authorities on the 
qui vive came from a schoolmaster, who was deeply 
involved in the conspiracy of the Whiteboys, and 
was also in the pay of Government, as a spy. He 
had repeatedly given information to the military. 
It had been remarked, however, — but more as a 
matter of curiosity than suspicion, — that while they 
rarely gained anything but fatigue from sallies made 
at his instigation, they never had been successful, 
but that outrages were pretty sure to be committed, 
at the same time, in a quarter opposite to that which 
he had suggested. In truth, he was a Whiteboy to 
the backbone, and a traitor to the authorities who 
employed him. But, like most of the peasantry of 
Limerick county, he was so very plausible in man- 
mer, stolid in countenance, and impenetrable in well- 
acted simplicity of speech and act, that his fidelity 



1S4 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

was not distrusted by the magistracy or the military. 
The police did not think well of him. 

The military force at Churchtown was large 
enough to be under the command of a Field Officer. 
On this occasion Major White, to whom that respon- 
sible post had been intrusted, deemed the informa- 
tion sufficiently important to place most of his men 
on active duty. There remained in the barrack a 
few dragoons, a score of infantry, and one subaltern 
officer. 

Hastily as Churchtown House had been converted' 
into a military station, care had been taken to make 
it assume something of a garrison appearance. A 
stone wall had been erected all around the building, 
inclosing sufficient space as a barrack-yard, in which 
the soldiers might attend drill, and go through their 
exercises. This wall was somewhat more than breast 
high. As there was a strong gate at each side, the 
place was considered quite able to resist any White- 
boy attack. But, indeed, such an act of daring had 
never been anticipated. Who could dream that those 
who dreaded the lion's paw would voluntarily rush 
into his mouth ? 

Having arranged his men for the attack, Cussen 
did not long keep them inactive. He gave the word, 
and a volley of slugs rattled against the barrack 
windows. The alarm was as immediate as the attack 
was sudden. The soldiers hastily snatched up their 
arms, hurried to the windows to observe whence came 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 185 

the assault, and were "picked out" by the quick 
.sight and sure aim of the assailants, so that some 
were wounded in their very sleeping-rooms. Moving 
"before the lights in those apartments, the soldiers 
were palpable objects to the armed men outside. 

In a few minutes, the soldiers were arranged in 
the barrack -yard, startled at the unexpected peril, 
and ready for defence. At that instant, while await- 
ing the orders of their officer, a second volley was 
fired upon them, and with fatal effect. The young 
subaltern on duty — bewildered by the suddenness 
and manner of this attack — "lost his head," as the 
saying is, and hurriedly gave the order to " Fire ! " 
.Becoming rather accustomed to the darkness, the 
soldiers fancied that they saw their assailants outside, 
partly concealed behind the front wall. Each sol- 
dier aiming at what he imagined to be the head of an 
enemy, a straggling peal of musketry followed. The 
-soldiers shouted, and were about re-loading, when, 
with fatal precision, a third shower of slugs and ball, 
from the Whiteboys, did ' tremendous execution 
.among them. The beleaguered soldiers even then 

o o 

had not ascertained from what quarter destruction 
was thus fiercely poured in upon them. 

Notwithstanding, they bore themselves gallantly. 
Men who had faced death, in its worst form, on the 
field of battle, a few years before, were not likely to 
-quail before such foes as they knew must now be be- 
fore them. The suspense was worse than the reality, 



186 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

for their ignorance of the number and position of 
their assailants, caused doubts more dreadful than, 
would have been the actual knowledge of an ascer- 
tained peril. 

With as little delay as possible, but still only at a 
venture, the soldiers fired a second time. Their fire 
was immediately returned. By this time, six sol- 
diers were killed, and ten lay severely wounded on 
the ground. Their officer — a gallant youth who had 
been at school six months before — was shocked and 
surprised at seeing his men thus dropping around 
him, taken in a trap, as it were, and shot at like so 
many marks. Feeling that it was madness to remain 
in their exposed situation, and anxious to give his 
men a chance for their lives, he ordered them to 
throw open the gates, and sally out to meet their 
enemies face to face, and die — if die they must — in> 
a contest of man to man and hand to hand. 

Accordingly, the much-thinned military array,, 
literally 

" Few, and faint, but fearless still," 

divided itself — but the alarm and surprise were great 
when they found it impossible to open either of the 
gates. In fact, aware that these gates had been ab- 
surdly constructed and hung to open out of, instead 
of into, the barrack-yard, and anticipating the at- 
tempt to pass through them ; Oussen had made one 



CAPTALN ROOK. 187 

of his few preliminary preparations to consist of the 
heaping huge masses of rock against them, so as to 
prevent their being opened to allow egress to the be- 
sieged soldiers. 

This disappointment drove the military to despe- 
ration. When another volley from without struck 
down two more of them, the remnant of the party 
were quite bewildered, and would have fled back 
into cover, on the sauve qui pent principle, if their 
officer, as a last resource, had not ordered them to 
scale the walls, and boldly meet rather than fearfully 
retreat from the imminent peril. 

As with one impulse, rushing forward, they rapidly 
crossed the front wall. Here was a new cause for 
wonder. They found that they had hitherto been 
wasting their fire. Cussen, to baffle his opponents,, 
had placed his men behind each side wall, while, as a 
decoy, he had made them put their hats on that in 
front Thus, while the fire of the Whiteboys was 
masked, that of the military was thrown away upon 
the range of hats in front, which were easily mistaken 
for men behind the parapet. It was a clever strategy. 

When the soldiers dashed over the barrack- wall, 
they discovered the trick. The Whiteboys then 
rushed round from their concealment. A struggle 
ensued. Both parties were highly infuriated — one' 
with triumph, the other with rage. The contest, 
though destructive, was not of many minutes' con- 
tinuance. Desperate as was the bravery of the. 



188 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

soldiers, the overpowering force and courage of their 
opponents were resistless. The soldiers had no alter- 
native but to demand quarter. At that word, Cussen 
instantly gave orders that the contest should cease. 
Scarcely any of Irs party had even been wounded, 
while, on the other side, the young officer was the 
only one unharmed. The sergeant who had shot 
Sheehan (as related in the first chapter) was mortally 
wounded, and lay in the barrack -yard, writhing in 
agony. 

By this time, the barrack had been set fire to, and 
the flames raged fiercely. Dismayed, defeated, and 
surrounded by their opponents, the soldiers were 
grouped together on one side. Some twenty or 
thirty Whiteboys had gathered around the dying 
sergeant, watching his agonies with fiendish joy. 
" In with him ! in with him to the fire ! Burn 
him — burn the murderer alive I" were exclamations 
which burst from their lips, and made the doomed 
man shudder as he heard. Cussen stood a little 
aloof from all; one might have almost taken him 
for an unconcerned looker-on, as he carelessly stood 
with his arms folded, a close-fitting skull-cap of 
dark fur upon his head, and a narrow slip of crape 
concealing the upper part of his face. When the 
Whiteboys seized the sergeant, with the avowed 
intent of casting him into the flames, the young 
officer addressed Cussen, and earnestly entreated him 
to pre vert so dreadful a deed. "My men have 



captain uock. 1 Be- 

fallen," lie said, " but I do not know why they were 
attacked. For the love of heaven, do not allow this 
wretched man to suffer such a death, in cold blood. 
Besides, he has a mortal wound. If they want his 
death, a few hours, at the farthest, will gratify them. 
Do not let him perish thus." 

Cussen answered: "My men came here for re- 
venge upon that man, and I can scarcely prevent 
their taking it to the fullest. He deserves his death. 
Blood for blood ! When he shot an innocent, un- 
offending man, as if he were a dog, he drew this 
vengeance on himself. Still, it need not be pushed 
to the extremity they call for. A life for a life is 
all that can reasonably be required. But — what 
cries are those?" 

Turning round, he saw that the flames had sow 
readied the stables in which the horses of the 
dragoons were. The poor animals were driven 
almost to madness by fear, and their dreadful cries 
came shrilly and fearfully upon the ear, filling with 
awe the breasts of those wild men, who, while 
human agony appealed in vain, shuddered at this 
painful manifestation of deep suffering by the brute 
creation. Help was out of the question, as the flames 
spread too rapidly for assistance to be rendered. The 
poor animals were literally burned alive, amid the 
loudly expressed pity of the beholders. 

From this tragedy they turned to the wounded 
sergeant. He had breathed his last while this scene 



190 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

liad engaged their attention. They would not be 
cheated out of their revenge. With a yell of triumph, 
they cast his corpse into the flames, amid a thousand 
execrations. 

They thus had accomplished their work. Cussen 
turned to the young officer and said : " You are free ; 
but you must pledge me your word that if you have 
any personal knowledge of me, or think that you 
have, you will never take advantage of it." This 
pledge the officer firmly declined giving. Cussen 
paused for a few seconds, and replied that it did not 
matter: he would draw off his men. Giving the 
word, they marched off in good order — were soon 
out of sight, and the smoking ruins and diminished 
force remained as evidence of that night's tale of. 
ruin. 



CAPTAIK ROCK. 191 

OHAJTER Y. 

THE ATTACK ?N ROSSMORE. 

The news that Churchtown Barracks had been 
burned down, and the grater portion of its military 
defenders killed, spread, like wildfire, through all 
parts of the kingdom. Magisterial and military in- 
quiries did no more than ascertain the facts, but the 
persons remained undiscovered. Many were arrested 
•on suspicion, but the actual perpetrators escaped. 
The policy used was to co^ect them from distant 
points, so that domiciliary visits from the patrols and 
the police in the neighbourhood where the outrage 
had been committed found the peasantry within their 
•own habitations. Thus suspicion was diverted and 
detection almost impossible — except by treachery. 

Viewed through the magnifying glass of public 
rumor, the affair at Churcrtown appeared very 
great. In the dearth of more interesting intelligence, 
it was such an event as the \t onder- workers of the 
Press delighted to snatch up as an especial theme for 
record and remark. The Lor don newspapers es- 
pecially gloated over it. Day after day their col- 
umns were filled with " important particulars of the 
massacre at Churchtown, where the Irish rebels, ip 
-overpowering numbers, killed a reg/m^r t . f irfa^t* r 



192 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

and two troops of cavalry, burned the barracks to 
the ground, and barbarously threw the soldiers* 
wives and children into the flames, in which they 
were all consumed by the devouring element." The 
affray was repeatedly mentioned in Parliament, 
where the changes rung upon it produced quite a 
variorum edition of horrors. 

The Executive offered large rewards for such in- 
formation as might lead to the apprehension and 
conviction of the offenders. Though the required 
knowledge was scattered among hundreds of the 
peasantry — hunger- stricken men, who often wanted 
even salt to their potatoes — not one was found 
to enrich himself by the "blood-money." Two de- 
scriptions of persons are held in utter hatred and con- 
tempt in Ireland ; — the man who, for lucre, turns from 
the ancient faith of his fathers, and he who becomes a 
" stag " (informer) to save his own neck, or gain the 
wages of treachery. Of the two, the informer is 
considered more harshly than the apostate, who may 
repent, and in the fulness of time return (even on 
his death-bed) to the faith he has forsaken ; but once 
that a man becomes a traitor to his colleagues, he 
does Avhat cannot be undone by any contrition, and 
may be punished, but cannot be atoned for by Death. 
It is a strange condition of society, lamented by 
O'Connell, Sheil, and others, that, in any cases, 
while the Irish peasantry would pity, and even 
shield the murderer, (finding or making excuses for 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 193 

his crime,) they will not, they cannot pardon or ex- 
cuse the informer. 

Up to this time, Cussen had escaped suspicion of 
any participation in the Whiteboy proceedings. Lat- 
terly, whether from distaste for the low companion- 
ship into which he had fallen, or from a desire to 
elude suspicion, he had made a point of frequenting 
society of a better order. On one of these occasions, 
while he was spending the evening at the house of 
Mr. F. Drew, Drewscourt, near Charleville,(in which, 
by the way, the writer of these Sketches was born,) 
the affair of Churchtown became a subject of con- 
versation. Cussen took no part in the dialogue, but 
when all had retired, except Mr. Drew — a very 
shrewd but eccentric man — he spoke freely upon the 
subject, and having drank rather more than was good 
for him, got thrown off his guard so much as, in the 
excitement of. the moment, to give a minute account 
of everything which had passed on the memorable 
night in question. With fearful energy he narrated 
all the details, and at the close, when he told how 
the mutilated bodv o^ the sergeant had been cast 
into the flames, 

" Even in his glance, the gladiator spoke." 

The impression which his statement and his man- 
ner made upon his listener was (as Frank Drew told 
me afterwards) that Cussen must have been a prin- 
9 



194 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

cipal in the frightful scenes which he so vividly de- 
scribed, or must have had his information direct 
from an eve-witness and participant. As the com- 
munication had been unguardedly made, and was 
protected by the seal of that confidence which exists 
between guest and host, the suspicion never found 
words until after it was too late to harm Cussen. 

The Churchtown insurgents remained undetected. 
Emboldened by success, Cussen determined to make 
a bold attempt to obtain arms. His followers strongly 
urged him to obtain fire-arms by attacks on the 
houses of country gentlemen who were known to 
have provided themselves with large means of de- 
fence. 

Castletown Conyers (about three miles from Drews- 
court) was the country mansion of a gentleman of 
large property, not far from the boundary of Lim- 
erick county. Mr. Conyers, an old gentleman whose 
loyalty and fears were on a par, was living, when 
the predial disturbances broke out, in a remote part 
of the county, and, having incontinently taken fright, 
had applied to the Government for protection, and 
had a corporal and six of the Eifle Brigade quar- 
tered in his house as a defensive force. Thus gar- 
risoned, the place might be considered a stronghold ; 
— for, in addition to the military force, Mr. Conyers 
had procured two or three cases of Birmingham 
fowling-pieces, a few kegs of powder, a large bag of 
flints (this was before the general use of percussion 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 195 

caps), and a hundred weight of sheet lead, to be cast 
into bullets. 

This formidable supply of arms and ammunition 
had reached Castletown under strong military escort 
from Limerick, and report spoke of it as even more 
considerable than it really was. With these muni- 
tions of war, and the soldiers and the servants of the 
house, Castletown was one of the most formidable 
places the Whiteboys could have thought of attack- 
ing. Yet, with that characteristic, but calculating 
•boldness, which gave him eminence with his fol- 
lowers, 

" For those who think must rule o'er those who toil," 

Cussen determined to invest this fortilage. The 
arms and ammunition were what he wanted, for no 
•one could harbor enmity against the owner of Cas- 
tletown, a harmless, neutral character, whose house 
was open to the poor ; while his wife, a matron of 
the olden school (she was half-sister to Sir John 
Fitzgerald, now M. P. for Clare), was beloved 
throughout the district, for her kindness and char- 
ity. 

Cussen well knew that his party, numerous but 
badly armed, would have but small chance of suc- 
cess in an ordinary attack upon CaEtlefown, well 
defended as it was. He determined to win by 
strategy what he could scarcely gain by force. He 



196 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

■usually preferred such exploits as could be achieved 
rather by mental ingenuity than mere physical 
effect. To figure as the contriver gratified him, 
and encouraged his followers' belief that, no matter 
what the difficulty, his sagacity could bring it 
through with success. 

About a mile from Castletown, and yet more re- 
mote from other large houses — for it was in a part 
of the country half-bog, half-mountain — was Ross- 
more, the residence of Mr. John Shelton, owner of a 
considerable property. Long confined to his chair- 
by gout, which had deprived him of the power of 
walking, he had not taken any part in the county 
proceedings, as a magistrate. Nor, while other res- 
ident landlords were soliciting assistance to protect 
their dwellings, had Mr. Shelton joined in the en- 
treaty. Isolated by habits and local situation, from 
the gentry of the district, he believed that the White- 
boys would not obtrude on the obscurity of one 
who felt that, as a good landlord, he did not deserve- 
ill at the hands of any one. Of his large family 
there were then residing with him a son aged about 
eighteen, and two daughters some years older. As 
Mr. Shelton was my own uncle, I can speak con- 
fidently as to the details which I give. 

About ten o'clock, on a fine evening in March, 
1822, the peaceful inhabitants of Rossmore House 
were disturbed by a Whiteboy visit. The doors 
were speedily forced in, front and rear. The help- 



CAPTAIN" ROCK. 197 

less household offering no resistance, the intruders 
proceeded to make themselves quite " at home." 
'One division sat down in the servants' hall, threw 
wood and turf on the fire, and commanded the 
trembling female servants to cover the long table 
with provisions. Others ranged through the adja- 
cent apartments in search of arms. More loudly 
•called out for young Charles Shelton. The plan of 
'Cussen was to take this lad to Castletown a prisoner, 
and threaten to shoot him in sight of the garrison 
there, unless all the arms and ammunition were 
given up. The two families were on such friendly 
terms, besides being related, that Cussen made sure 
•of Mr. Conyers making any sacrifice rather than see 
Ms neighbor's son killed. But, in very truth, (as I 
afterwards knew,) whatever Mr. Conyers might have 
felt, the military force at Castletown would rather 
have permitted the murder than part with the means 
of defence — the catastrophe at Churchtown being in 
their minds. 

Charles Shelton, who slept in an upper and re- 
mote apartment, did not immediately hear the tu- 
mult below. His elder sister, Alicia, who had high 
spirit and much self-possession, heard the clamour — 
readily surmised the extreme danger of her brother 
— hastily arose, throwing a shawl over her night 
dress — ran to her brother's room, the door of which 
she locked, securing the key — and then went dawu 
boldly to face the danger, if necessary. 



198 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

While she stood near the door of the servants' 
hall, regarding what was going on, but herself un 
seen, Cussen came in from the back-yard, having 
kept aloof from the confusion until then. He was 
just in time. The frightened servants, in compliance 
with loud demands for drink, had placed the whis- 
key-jar upon the table. Knowing that success, and 
even safety depended on such indulgence being ab 
stained from, he brol^e the jar with the fowling-piece 
he carried. 

His men looked at each other, then at him, but his 
stern looks awed them. One or two merely mut- 
tered a regret that " such prime stuff" should be 
wasted. 

Cussen then, as if anxious to avoid all chance of 
recognition, returned to the back of the house. He- 
wore a close-fitting skull-cap, with a slip of crape in 
front, and could see whatever occurred. His follow- 
ers were more or less disguised, and all, except Cus- 
sen, had white shirts over their garments — hence- 
the name Whiteboy. 

Perceiving the power of his leadership, Alicia 
Shelton determined not to waste words or time in 
entreaties on the men, but to appeal at once to Cus- 
sen. She managed to leave the house without be- 
ing noticed — found Cussen outside, leaning on his 
fowling-piece, in a thoughtful and abstracted mood. 
To throw herself on her knees before him — to im- 
plore him for the love of Heaven to save her bro* 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 199 

ther's life — was the impulsive action of a moment. He 
turned away, not even looking upon her, and then 
— the present peril giving her new energy and 
courage — she seized him by the coat-skirt and ear- 
nestly said, " You want to take my brother to Cas- 
tletown. There they will see him torn to pieces be- 
fore they will surrender their arms. You must 
know that it will be an idle attempt. Then, in their 
disappointment, your men will kill him. Save him 
— save my brother, if you have a human heart. 
I know that you will do it, and I will bless you 
if you do." 

She sank on the ground before him. He felt that 
she was speaking the truth. Besides, he was moved 
by her entreaty. Eaising her from the ground, he 
said, in a kind and soothing manner, "Lady! I 
am afraid that we must have your brother's com- 
pany, but no harm shall reach him with my con- 
sent," 

Her convulsive grasp still held him. Striving to 
extricate himself, he got into the moonlight, and 
then, for the first time, he had a view of her features. 
She was very handsome ; and now, with her dark hair 
dishevelled, her eager glance, her graceful attitude, 
her earnest tone, her light attire, she looked a Py- 
thoness. 

Cussen gazed long and anxiously on the still 
kneeling suppliant. Some old memory may have 



200 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

passed ^Jirougi his mind in that brief space — a wave 
in life's vast ocean. Perhaps some resemblance of 
form, feature, or voice brought back a glimpse of 
bygone days of happiness and love. There still was 
something tender in that troubled heart. He passed 
his hands across his eyes, as if he would clear them 
from a mist, and then with a gentle courtesy, as if 
they were in a ball-room, raised Miss Shelton from 
the ground. 

"Lady," said he, " whatever I can do to aid you, 
I will do. They have not yet found your brother. 
If he be concealed, keep him so, and I will make 
some pretext to draw off my men. They must have 
whatever arms are in the house ; but they shall be 
content with that." 

Miss Shelton would have expressed her warm 
gratitude, but Cussen did not wait to be thanked. 
He turned away then. While she yet lingered, with 
clasped hands to heaven, he suddenly returned, polite- 
ly raised his cap from his head for a moment, took 
one of her hands in his, pressed his lips to it, with 
the gallant air of a cavalier, and then withdrew. 
Almost before Alicia Shelton had regained her own 
apartments, Cussen had given his men the word to 
retire. He led them into the belief that the military 
and police were approaching, and this made them 
hastily retreat and disperse, taking with them all the 
arms in the house except a small pair of pistols 



CAPTAIN KOCK. 201 

-which Captain Shellon had picked up and brought 
away with him from Waterloo. They are now 
in my own possession. 

Before Miss Shelton had risen from her earnest 
thanksgiving for her brother's safety, Captain Rock 
and his force had departed. She then ventured into 
her father's room, from whence his bodily ailments 
did not allow him to move, and was happy to learn 
that he had not heard the tumult which had pre- 
vailed in the more distant part of the house. Thus 
terminated a night of terror. 



CHAP TEE VI. 
THE TKIAL. 

Much alarm was created, through the county of 
Limerick, by the attack upon Mr. Shelton of Ross- 
more. The neighbouring gentry argued from it, and 
not without cause, that if a gentleman whose ad- 
vanced years and bodily ailments Lad kept him 
aloof from the actual exercise of his magisterial 
functions, were thus singled out, there was little 
hope for escape for those who had made themselves 
marked men, by determined and acknowledged 
resistance to and denunciation of the Whiteboys 






202 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Accordingly, zeal being now quickened by fear 
for personal safety, it was resolved that neither 
trouble Lor expense be spared to discover the 
persons implicated in this last affair. Many cir- 
cumstances tended to establish a conviction that the- 
leader of the Whiteboys must be some one greatly 
superior to those whom he commanded. The brief 
conversation which had been held with the officer 
at Churchtown, and Miss Shelton at Eossmore, 
almost proved that one and the same person had 
commanded on both occasions, — that he was a man 
of education and gentle bearing, — and that it was 
necessary, above all, if the insurrectionary conspiracy 
was to be put down, to strike at him, its life and 
soul. 

Weeks passed by, and though many were sus- 
pected, and several taken into custody by the police, 
no clue to the discovery of the veritable Captain 
Eock was yet discovered. • At last, one of the 
persons apprehended on suspicion — faint-hearted as 
a weak woman, and far less faithful — let fall some 
words which first excited suspicion against John 
Cussen. No notice appeared to be taken of them at 
the time, but the prisoner, who was kept in solitary 
confinement for some time, was gradually worked 
upon by promises of large payment in the event of 
the conviction of the actual leader of the Whiteboys. 
He vacillated between cupidity, and fear of his own 
personal safety. At last, he stagged — that is, he 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 203 

gave some information, on the solemn promise that 
his having done so should never transpire, that h& 
should not be required to give any evidence in 
public, and that he should immediately be conveyed 
oat of the country for safety. 

At first, the magistrates hesitated to believe that 
John Cussen could be concerned in the outrages 
which had spread alarm far and near, and directed 
particular inquiries to be made respecting his habits, 
way of living, haunts, occupation, and companions. 
They ascertained, from this scrutiny and espial, the 
fact of his frequent absences from home at night ; they 
obtained proof of his having been seen, within the 
prohibited hours, in remote places where outrages- 
had been committed ; and the conviction came 
upon their minds that Cussen, and none other, 
was the much-dreaded and long-concealed Captain 
Eock. 

Orders were given to arrest him, and also to search 
his house. Among his papers Avere found some docu- 
ments which could scarcely have been in possession 
of any but a leader of the disaffected. They were 
insufficient of themselves, however, to fix him as 
such. 

The police and the military, charged with the 
warrant to arrest Cussen, received strict injunctions 
to avoid unnecessary violence. It was anticipated, 
from his determined character and great personal; 



204 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

strength, that he would resist any attempt to make 
him a prisoner. Contrary to expectation, he surren- 
dered himself without struggle or hesitation. He 
was found sitting tete-a-tete with old Frank Drew, 
at Drew's Court, — the same to whom he had spoken 
so freely about the particulars of the attack on 
Churchtown Barracks, — and when he heard the 
measured tread of the military, as they came up 
the avenue, he paused in his conversation, and 
exclaimed, " They have come for me." 

In custody his deportment, equally devoid of 
■effrontery and fear, was apparently that of an 
innocent man, and impressed very many with the 
idea that. he was unjustly suspected. The magis- 
trates, who knew better, but were compelled to con- 
ceal the source of their information, even incurred 
some blame, from public opinion, for having appre- 
hended and detained him. 

The difficulty was — how to prove that John 
Cussen was identical with Captain Kock. In ac- 
cordance with his compact with the authorities, the 
craven who had given the clue had been quietly 
shipped off to England. The most liberal offers 
were secretly made, on the part of the Government, 
to induce some of the other prisoners to turn king's 
evidence, but without avail. They knew, one and 
all, what share Cussen's had been in the Whiteboj- 
movements ; but they were fully aware, also, that tc 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 205 

appear in evidence against him would, in effect, be 
equivalent to the signing of their own death-warrant* 
They continued faithful to him — and* from higher 
motives, perhaps, than that of personal fear. For 
he was a man who possessed the power of winning 
hearts, and there were many — very many of his 
followers, who had become so warmly attached to* 
him that they would have laid down their own lives 
to protect his from harm. 

It was believed that Miss Shelton, if she was so 
minded, could have recognized his figure, his features, 
and the very tone of his voice. She was strongly 
urged to do so, in order "to promote the ends of 
justice;'' but, grateful for the service which he had 
rendered to her brother, and remembering his per- 
sonal courtesy to herself, she invariably declined 
doing so, and, to avoid all compulsion or persuasion 
in the matter, was secretly preparing to pay a visit 
to her elder sister, who had married an English 
gentleman, and resided at Bath. On her repeated 
refusal to assist the Crown, it was determined that, 
by means of a stratagem, she should be trepanned 
into identifying him. 

Accordingly, Major Eeles, Captain Johnstone^ 
and another officer of the Kifle Brigade, made a 
morning-call at Rossmore, and, as if by accident, 
asked Miss Shelton and her sister whether they 
would not like to see the barrack at Ballingarry, 
which they had repeatedly promised to visit. A 



"206 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

partj> oi sfx or seven was made up on the instant. 
The horses were ordered out, and very soon the 
party reached the barrack, in which Cussen was 
detained until his final-removal to the county -prison 
of Limerick. That such a person was there, was 
unknown to all the visitors. Accompanied by some 
of the officers' wives, whom they knew, the ladies 
from Eossmore entered the room occupied by Cussen, 
heavily ironed and closely guarded. As they were 
passing through it, Cussen was purposely provoked, 
by one of his guards, to speak loudly — angrily, 
indeed — to some taunting remark. Alicia Shelton, 
recognizing the peculiar and unforgotten tone, seized 
her sister's arm, with a sudden impulse, and ex- 
claimed — "It is the very man!" and would have 
fallen, but for support immediately rendered. 

Cussen started at her exclamation, looked at her, 
"" more in sorrow than in anger," rose from his chair, 
raised his hat, and courteously saluted the party. 
Miss Shelton, who avoided a second glance at him, 
Testrained her feelings, and did not again open her 
lips ; but what she had involuntarily said, slight as 
it was, sealed his fate — and he knew it. So did the 
officers who had planned the trick. 

Government had directed that Cussen's trial should 
immediately take place. This was before Alicia Shel- 
ton had been betrayed into a recognition of the pris- 
oner. She considered herself bound in honour not to 
give evidence to the detriment of one who had con- 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 207 

ferred a signal favour on herself. But, on the night 
-of the attack, Cussen had also been seen and heard 
by her younger sister, whose bed-room window over- 
looked the back-yard, and who had witnessed the 
occurrence between them. Not considering herself 
bound by any personal ties of gratitude, and some- 
what selfishly recollecting her own alarm rather than 
her brother's secured safety, Susanna Shelton de- 
clared that, for her part, she had no scruples in per- 
forming what she believed to be an act of justice to 
society. In addition, two of Cussen's followers, to 
save their own necks from the halter, promised, 
almost at the last moment, to turn king's evidence — 
but as there was no certainty of their remaining in 
the same mind, when put into the witness-box (or, 
rather, as it actually was, upon the table in the 
Court), not much reliance was placed upon them. 

The Assizes being several months distant, it was 
resolved not to wait, and a special Commission was 
sent down for the immediate trial of all persons in 
•custody under the Insurrection Act. At the same 
time, a messenger from the Castle of Dublin arrived 
at Rossmore with a subpeena to enforce the attend- 
ance of Miss Shelton and her sister, as witnesses on 
Cussen's trial, and they were taken away to Limer- 
ick, in a post-chaise, escorted by a troop of dra- 
goons. Apartments and all suitable accommoda- 
tion had been provided for them at Swinburne's — 



208 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

then the principal hotel in " the fair city of the "Vi- 
olated Treaty." 

The trial is not forgotten by those who were 
present. The court-house of Limerick was crowded 
to the very roof. I am proud to say, as an Irish- 
man, that among that large audience, there was not 
even one female. Irish propriety, by a conventional 
arrangement rather understood than expressed, verv 
properly prohibits the appearance of any of the 
fair sex in a Court of Justice, except where neces- 
sarily present as a party, or called upon as a wit- 
ness. I write of what was the rule some thirty 
years ago — matters may have changed since. On 
arraignment, Cussen pleaded " Not Guilty." After 
a long, fatiguing, and nearly inaudible speech from 
Mr. Sergeant Goold — who had been eloquent, but r 
in his old age, had become the greatest proser, for a 
small man, at the Irish Bar — the evidence was gone 
into. The case had been skilfully got up, but, 
though no moral" doubt could exist as to the pris- 
oner's participation, if not leadership, in many 
Whiteboy offences, it may be doubted whether the 
proofs would have sufficed for a conviction in ordi- 
nary times. The two informers, on whose evidence 
much reliance had been placed, told their story vol- 
ubly enough, but when the usher's wand was 
handed to them, that they might point at the pris- 
oner in identification, each shook his head and 
affected never before to have seen him. 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 209 

Cussen's equanimity was undisturbed throughout 
the early part of the trial. When Mr. Sergeant 
Goold, in stating the case, alluded to the attack on 
Churchtown, the prisoner said that, in the copy of 
the indictment with, which he had been served, there 
was no charge against him save for certain trans- 
actions alleged to have taken place at Kossmorc, 
and he desired to know whether it was purposed, 
or indeed whether it was legal, to state a case or 
give evidence out of the record? There was con- 
siderable sensation at this inquiry. The Judge re- 
plied that Counsel ought to confine himself to the 
charge in the indictment, and admitted that the pris- 
oner had exercised no more than his undoubted 
right in checking the introduction of irrelevant mat- 
ter. The Crown Counsel had only to bow and sub- 
mit to the opinion and reproof of the Judge. The 
prisoner appearing disposed to speak again, the 
Judge asked whether he had any more to say? 
"Only this, my lord," said he, "that if it be my 
right, as prisoner, to check the introduction of irrel- 
evant topics, having a tendency to prejudice me 
with the jury, it surely was your duty, as Judge, to 
have done so — particularly as mine is a case of life 
and death." 

This was a well-merited reproof, given with a cer- 
tain degree of dignity, and (for the Judge was a man 
of enlarged mind) did no injury to Cussen. 

WheD Miss Shelton appeared on the table, Cussen 



210 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

appeared startled, for lie had been given to under* 
stand that she had positively refused to appear 
against him — indeed, it had been reported that she 
had even gone to England to avoid it. Compelled 
to give her testimony, she detailed, in the plain 
and forcible language of truth, under what circum- 
stances she had seen Cussen at Eossmore — what peril 
her brother had been threatened with — what suppli- 
cations she had made in his behalf — how prompt 1} 
the favour she had solicited had been granted — how 
kind the prisoner's words and demeanour to herself 
had been. She took occasion to add that her ap- 
pearance as a witness was against her own desire. 
She was then asked to turn round and say whether 
she then saw the person who had acted as she had 
described. Not without great delay and hesitation 
— urged, indeed, by an intimation of the personal 
consequences of her contumacy — did she obey, but, 
at last, she did identify the prisoner, saying, "That 
is the man who saved my brother's life, at my en- 
treaty, and stood between myself and outrage worse 
than death." Cussen respectfully acknowledged her 
evident feeling in his favour by making her a low 
bow as she went down. 

Her sister, who was cast in a coarser mould of 
mind and body, exhibited no scruples, but gave her 
evidence with an undisguised antipathy towards the 
accused. The missing links, supplied by her teflW 
mony, made up a strong chain of evidence vrair^ 
6* 






CAP JAIN ROOK. 211 

ever j one felt, it would be difficult for Cusscn to 
beat down, in any manner. It was expected, almost 
as a matter of course, that he would trust to proving, 
by an alibi, the impossibility of his having been the 
person who was present on the occasion referred to 
by the witness. Every one who saw him in the 
dock, where his bearing was equally free from bra- 
vado and fear, anticipated some very ingenious, if 
not successful defence. He very slightly cross-ex- 
amined the witnesses for the prosecution, and then 
,-only on points which bore on his personal conduct. 
He declined availing himself of the open assistance 
of counsel — though he had consulted eminent legal 
authorities on various technical points, while in 
prison. But for the place in which he stood, fenced 
in with iron spikes, and surrounded by the police, 
one might have thought him merely interested, as a 
spectator, in the circumstances evoked by the evi- 
dence, rather than one whose life depended on the 
issue. Cool, deliberate, and self-possessed, he enter- 
ed on his defence. 

It was of the briefest; — only a simple nega- 
tion of the charge — a denial that, even with all 
probability of its being true, there was legal evi- 
dence of such a breach of the law as involved con- 
viction and punishment — a regret that his identity 
should have been mistaken by the younger Miss 
Shelton, who, had he really been the person at Ross- 
more, had never, even on her own showing, been so 



212 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

close to him as for her to distinguish his features — art 
expression of gratitude to Alicia Shelton for her evi- 
dent disinclination to injure one who she believed 
had treated her with kindness — a strong disclaimer 
of imputing wilful error to her, though he consid- 
ered her sister not free from censure for her undis- 
guised avidity in seizing upon every circumstance to 
convict him — a reckless assertion that, come what 
might, he had outlived the desire of existence, and 
was prepared for any fortune. Such was the sub- 
stance of his address, delivered in a manner equally 
free from bravado and dread. He concluded by de- 
claring that, already prejudged by public opinion 
(the newspapers, from the first, having roundly pro- 
claimed that he, and none other, was or could be the 
true Captain Rock), and with the undue weight given, 
to slight and evidently prejudiced evidence, he felt 
that his prospect of acquittal was small. 

Mr. Sergeant Goold then arose to speak to the 
evidence for the Crown, and was interrupted by 
Cussen, who asked the Judge whether, when no evi- 
dence, was called for the defence, the prisoner was- 
not entitled, by himself or counsel, to the last word 
to the jury ? Mr. Sergeant Goold answered that the 
Crown, in all cases, was entitled to the last speech, 
and appealed to the Judge for confirmation of the 
assertion. Cussen again addressed the Judge, and 
said that, in civil suits, the practice was certainly not 
to allow the plaintiff the last speech when the de- 






CAPTAIN KOCK. 21 1 

fendant did not call witnesses, for he had himself 
been a juryman, in the other court, when such a 
circumstance had occurred. The Judge's decision 
was that, if he pleased to insist upon it, the counsel 
for the Crown might desire and exercise the right of 
speaking to the evidence, even when, as in the present 
instance, the accused had called no witnesses, nor 
even made a defence. But, his Lordship added, per- 
haps under the circumstances, Mr. Sergeant Goold 
would not exercise the right. Goold grumbled, and 
fidgeted, and muttered unintelligible sentences about 
his duty, and finally, gathering up his papers, quitted 
the Court in a huff, with the air of a person mightily 
•offended. 

The Judge then summed up the evidence, and 
charged the jury very minutely — dwelling, more 
than was anticipated, on the remote probability that 
the younger Miss Shelton might have been mistaken 
as to the identity of the accused. But, said he, even 
if she were so situated that recognition of his per- 
son were even impossible, there is the evidence of 
her sister, given with a reluctance which was crec it- 
able to her humanity, gratitude, and womanly feel- 
ing, which undoubtedly declared that the prisoner 
in the dock, and none but he, was the leader in the 
.attack upon her father's house on the night named 
in the indictment. 

The jury retired, and after a long deliberation, 
returned a verdict of " Guilty." Perhaps, of all per- 



214 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

sous in the court, the prisoner was apparently the 
least moved by this announcement. His cheek did 
not blench, his lips quiver, nor his limbs tremble. 
He was called upon to declare whether he had any- 
thing to say why the sentence of the law should not. 
be passed ? 

Cussen, drawing himself up to his full height, de- 
clared, in a sonorous voice, which filled the Couic,. 
and in the same collected manner which had charac- 
terized him during the whole trial, that nothing 
which he could say was likely to mitigate the sharp- 
sentence of the law. " I have had a fair trial," said 
he, "as from the excited state of the country, and" 
the fears and feelings of the jury, I could reasonably 
expect. It is evident, from the time they have spent 
in deliberating on their verdict, that some of the 
jury ; at least, had doubts in my favour. But," he 
added, " I make no calculation upon that, for I am 
aware that you, my lord, even while you comply 
with the formula of asking me whether I have any- 
thing to say against my sentence, have no alternative- 
but to pronounce it. For my own part, I have faced 
death on the battle-field, too often and too boldly, to- 
dread it in any shape. And for the ignominy, I 
hold with the French philosopher, whose writings 
your lordship is familiar with, that it is the crime,, 
and not the punishment, which makes the shame. 
My lord, I stand, as it were, on the threshold of 
another world. My path is already darkened by 






CAPTAIN KOCK. 215 

the fast-advancing shadows of the grave. Hear me 
declare, then, that even if I were the Captain Rock 
whom jour jury declare me to be, my death, nor the 
death of hundreds such as I am, cannot and will net 
put an end to disaffection arising from laws oppres- 
sive in themselves, and rendered even more so by 
being harshly and partially administered. The spirit 
of the people is all but broken by long-continued 
and strong oppression. Between middlemen and 
proctors they have been driven almost into despair. 
Exactions, for rent and tithes, press increasingly 
upon them. Whatever little property they may 
have possessed has gradual^ melted away. Their 
cattle, under distraint for rent, crowd the pounds. 
Their miserable cabins are destitute of fuel and food. 
They feel their wrongs, and have united with the 
energy of despair to avenge them. Cease to oppress 
these men, and the King will have no better subjects. 
So much for them. A concluding word for myself. 
My lord, I have not called evidence, which T might 
have done, to show that my general character is that 
of a man indisposed towards bloodshed and cruelty. 
It may be too late to hear them now — but for the 
sake of others I would stand before the world as one 
who is not the blood-stained ruffian which the learned 
counsel for the Crown has proclaimed, me to be. I 
would tell him, were he here, that whatever else I 
have done, I have never been publicly branded fry 
the Legislature as a liar. My lord, I have done." 



218 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

This bold attack on Mr. Sergeant Goold, who. 
three years before, had been publicly reprimanded 
by the House of Commons for having prevaricated, 
when giving evidence before the Limerick Election 
Committee, was received with applause. 

The Judge intimated that he was ready to hear 
evidence as to Cussen's character, on which several 
gentlemen of high standing in the county came for- 
ward and bore testimony greatly in his favour. The 
sentence of death was then pronounced, with the 
usual formalities. 

But Cussen's hour was not at hand. A memorial 
to the Government, from Alicia Shelton, strongly 
setting forth the humanity which the convict had 
manifested towards herself, was immediately for- 
warded. With it went a petition, signed by several 
who had been interested with Cussen's conduct on 
the trial, and believed that to execute their leader 
was -the least likely way of conciliating the White- 
boys. In due course, the Judge who had presided at 
the trial was called upon to state his opinion. It 
was said that, viewing the case as it came out in the 
evidence, and without touching on the suspicion or 
presumption that Cussen had been guilty of other 
breaches of the law, the report of the Judge was 
strongly in his favour. At all events, the Govern- 
ment complied with the urgent solicitations in Cus- 
sen's behalf, and commuted the sentence of death 
into transportation for life. 



CAPTAIN HOCK. 217 

As Cussen had heard his death-doom without any 
apparent emotion, his reception of the mitigation of 
punishment was wholly devoid of exultation. He 
requested that the prison authorities would convey 
his thanks to Alicia Shelton and the others who had 
interested themselves in his favour. 

It was said that an intimation was made to him, 
on the part of the Executive, promising him a full 
pardon if he would give them a clue to the White- 
boy organization, which they greatly desired to put 
down. It was reported, also, that, in his reply, he 
declared himself incapable of betraying any confi- 
dence which had been reposed in him, — that family 
circumstances must prevent his desiring to remain in 
Ireland, on any terms, — and he trusted there was a 
Future for every man who desired to atone for the 
Past. This was the nearest approach he ever made 
to an admission that he had been involved in the 
Whiteboy movements. The " family circumstances " 
to which he alluded consisted of his having been 
privately married to a Miss Fitzgibbon, with whom 
he lived so unhappily, that even an enforced resi- 
dence in New South Wales appeared a lesser evil 
than to remain with her in Ireland.* 

* The friend who has given me this information respecting Mrs. 
Cussen, says that when she lived in Limerick, not long ago, her 
means appeared ample. Her father, who had been a rich cattle- 
dealer, grazier and farmer, near , had probably left her 

in easy circumstances. He was a Mr. Fitzgibbon, and very little 
10 



218 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

This, however, did not transpire until some time 
after he had quitted the country. 

He was transmitted to the convict-ship at Cove, 
on board of which the narrator of this story, then a. 
lad, had the curiosity to visit him. Of course, no 
conversation arose as to the question of his guilt or 
innocence. When Cussen learned that his youthful 
visitor was related to Miss Shelton, he manifested 
some interest, inquired after her health, begged she 
would accept his thanks for the favourable manner in 
which she had given her evidence, and said that she 
had strongly reminded him of a lady whom he had 
formerly known, and whose death had led to the 
circumstances which had brought him to his present, 
position. 

The impression which remains on my mind, after 

indebted to education. He sent his daughter to a first-rate 
boarding-school, and permitted her, when grown to womanhood* 
to invite her former preceptor and a few more " genteels " to an 
evening party — the first ever given in his house. The young 
lady was somewhat affected, and, to show her education, used big 
words. Her father, who heard her say to the servant " Biddy, 
when the company depart, be sure and extinguish the candles/' 
inquired what was the meaning of the word " extinguish " It 
means 10 put out a thing, said she. In the course of the evening 
the pigs got upon the lawn, which was overlooked by the draw- 
ing-room window, and made a terrible noise. Old Fitzgibbon, de- 
termined to be genteel among his daughter's fine guests, went to 
the head of the stairs, and loudly called out, "Biddy, go at 
once and extinguish the pigs from the front of the house!" 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 219" 

the lapse of so many years, is very i^uch in favour 
both of Cussen's appearance and manners. He was 
neatly dressed, and looked very unlike what might 
have been anticipated — considering that he was the 
veritable Captain Rock. His voice was low — " an 
excellent thing " in man as well as in woman. There 
was no appearance of bravado in his manner. The 
two turnkeys from Limerick jail, who were in charge 
of him, spoke very highly of his gentle disposition 
and uniform civility. They declared, such was their 
conviction of his truth, that if, at any time, he had 
desired to leave them for a week, with a promise to- 
return by a particular day and hour, they were cer- 
tain he would not Lreak his parole. 

On reaching Spike Island, he was attired in the 
convict costume, — and the humiliating livery of 
crime appeared a great annoyance to him for a day 
or two. After that, he showed no feeling upon the- 
matter. The "authorities" at Spike Island, who 
were much prejudiced against him, at first, speedily 
came to treat him with as much kindness as their 
rough nature and scanty opportunities permitted them 
to show. 

Within three weeks of his conviction, John Cus- 
sen was en route for Botany Bay. During the voy- 
age, a dangerous epidemic br)ke out among the 
convicts and the crew. The surgeon of the ship 
was one of the first victims. The commander, who- 
had heard the report of the trial at Limerick, recol- 






220 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

lectcd tliat one of the witnesses had stated how gal- 
lantly Cussen had fought at Waterloo, when an 
army-surgeon, and asked his prisoner whether he 
thought himself capable, in the existing emergency, 
of taking medical charge of the ship. Cussen re- 
plied in the affirmative, but positively declined 
doing anything so long as he wore the convict-dress. 
His desire being complied with, he was released 
from his irons, intrusted with the care of the sick, 
and succeeded in mitigating their sufferings by the 
remedies he applied. The disease was checked, so 
that the mortality was much less than was expected, 
and this favourable result was mainly attributable to 
Cussen's skill. On arriving in New South Wales, 
this was so favourably represented to the authorities 
that a ticket of leave was immediately given to him. 
Proceeding up the country, he took a small sheep- 
walk, and was getting on prosperously, when a 
party of bush-rangers attacked and devastated his 
little place. He immediately devoted himself to a 
contest with this predatory band — long the terror 
of the colony — and did not rest until he had so com- 
pletely routed them, that the leaders were appre- 
hended and executed, while the rest, one by one, 
•came in and delivered themselves up to justice. 

The result was that, for this public service, Cussen 
received a pardon (the only condition being that he 
must not return to Ireland), within two years after 
his arrival in the Colony. He practiced for some 



CAPTAIN ROCK. 221 

time, as a surgeon, at Sydney, and having realized 
about five thousand pounds, proceeded to the United 
States. One of his first acts, after arriving in New 
York, was to send to Ireland for the son of John 
Sheehan (the man who had been shot on suspicion 
of Whiteboyism), now doubly orphaned by his. 
mother's death. He adopted him, in fulfilment of 
his promise at the Wake, as related in the first 
chapter. His own wife and daughter, whom he 
had liberally supplied with funds from New South 
Wales, declined rejoining him there or in America, 
and were actually residing in Limerick a few years 
ago. Cussen eventually settled in one of the West- 
ern States, where his capital at once enabled him to 
purchase and cultivate'* a large tract of land. He 
has been heard of, more than once, by those who 
knew his identity, as a thriving and influential citi- 
zen, under a slightly changed name. 

The fact that Cussen had led the attack upon 
Churchtown Barracks was not positively ascertained 
for several years after his departure from Ireland. 
In a death-bed confession, one of the party avowed 
it. To this day, however, very many of the people 
in the County of Limerick, who were well acquainted 
with Cussen, will not believe that he ever could 
have participated in such a cold-blooded massacre. 
They appeal, in proof of the gentleness of his na- 
ture, to the kind feelings which he exhibited during 
the attack on Eossmore. 



222 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

It is clear, at all events, that by the conviction of 
•Cussen, the Whiteboys lost a leader. The con- 
federation was speedily broken up, for want of its 
-Captain Eock. Nor, since that time, have the 
disaffected in Ireland been able to obtain the assist- 
ance of any one so competent for command as was 
John Cussen. His successors, from time to time, 
have been bold, ignorant men, at the highest not 
more than one degree above the peasantry whom 
they contrived to band together as United Irish- 
men, Kibbonmen, or Whiteboys. The peasantry 
were taught, too, that the redress of grievances is 
not likely to be brought about by illegal confedera- 
tions — that agitation within the law, may virtually 
place them above the law, — and that he who com- 
mits a crime gives an advantage to the antagonist. 
This was the great principle which O'Connell always 
endeavoured to enforce. We have seen the last of 
the Whiteboys, and I have told the story of the un- 
doubted Captain Rock, the will-o'-the-wisp of Irish 
•agrarian disturbances. 



A NIGHT WITH THE WHITEBOYS. 

In - connection with the leadership of John Cussen, 
an incident occurred which may be related here, as 
a sort of appendix to his own adventures. It is 
only a trifle in its way, but illustrates the manner in 
which, even after he had quitted the country, he was 
regarded by his former adherents. 

About twelve months after the conviction and 
transportation of Captain Rock, which eventually 
led to the breaking up of the Whiteboy organization 
— though, here and there, a few branch Ribbon 
lodges remained — I was on a visit to my uncle, 
the self-same owner of Rossmore, mentioned in the 
previous story, and father of its heroine. Rossmore 
House is situated within a short distance of Castle- 
town Conyers, and, by taking a short cut across the 
fields, this distance might be reduced to a mile. 
Having spent the day at Castletown, I was returning 
to Rossmore by the short cut, late in the evening — 
too late, indeed, as I had been warned, from the 
■chance of meeting some of the prowlers who haunted 
the by-roads towards "the small town. I had no 
fear, however, and though it was after twelve o'clock, 
there was a beautiful full moon, which, as the old 

(223) 



224 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

song says, " did shine as bright as day." I had got 
on a narrow by-road which ran between two bogs r 
and was speeding home with as little delay as possible. 
All at once, I heard the dull heavy tramp of feet, in 
a measured tread, and thought that it probably was 
the police-patrol taking its rounds. As some of the 
police were quartered at my uncle's, I entertained no 
apprehension on account of being found out of doors 
at an untimely hour, as my person was known to 
these peace-preservers. I walked on, therefore, at 
my ease, loitering a little to allow myself to be over- 
taken, in order that I might have an escort home. 

The party came up, and when I turned round to 
recognize and speak to them, I was considerably 
alarmed to find that I was in the midst of a large 
assemblage of rough-and-ready countrymen, wrapped 
up in large blue coa teens, every man of them with a 
huge bludgeon in his hand. Knowing that the best 
plan was to put as bold a front on it as I could, I 
accosted them with the usual "Good evening, boys. 1 ' 
They did not condescend to return the greeting, but 
gathered together in groups, conversing in Irish, 
which I did not understand — the acquisition of that 
ancient and sonorous language having been a neg- 
lected branch of my education. From their vehe- 
ment action, their constant references to myself by 
gesture, and the repetition of my name, I perceived 
that they knew who I was, and were speaking about 
me. Unda"" such circumstances, I thought, with Fa] 



A NIGHT WITH THE WHITEBOYS. 225 

staff, that the better part of valour was discretion, 
and I prepared to effect my escape from such un- 
pleasant companionship, by slipping off as quietly 
is I could. 

The intention, however excellent, was not to be 
oorne out in execution. Before I had taken fifty 
steps, I felt two or three large, rough, hairy, sinewy 
hands on the collar of my coat, and the cold muzzle 
of a pistol under my left ear, with a threat, strength* 
ened by a tremendous oath, that, if I dared move one 
inch farther, the contents of the pistol should be 
lodged in my brain. I did not move, having a 
strong idea that the threat would be carried into 
execution, — not a remarkably pleasant anticipation 
for any one, far less for a lad of fourteen. 

After some delay, a man, who appeared to be a 
kind "of leader, asked me my name, and whether I 
was not a nephew of "the old fellow at Rossmore." 
I said that I was. "Then," -said he, "you are the 
cousin of that fine young lady whose swearing was 
the means of our Captain being sent across the sea ?" 
I answered that he was quite correct, and that I cer- 
tainly was the lady's cousin. " Then," said he, " as 
we cannot lay hands on ker, for she cut away to 
England when the trial was over, for fear of our 
just revenge, I think Ave must have your blood in- 
stead." As I had a very strong objection to 
suffering, vicariously, even for a woman and a 
cousin, I remonstrated against the design, alleging, 
10* 



226 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

truly enough, that it was hard I should answer for 
any one's sins but my own ; that the lady, as was 
well known, had given evidence against Captain 
Bock, under compulsion ; and that, after he was 
sentenced to death, she never rested until she had 
obtained a remission of the sentence of death passed 
upon him. 

What I said evidently made an impression on my 
audience — on such, at least, as knew English. To 
the rest it was duly interpreted; after which, still 
leaving me in charge of the hirsute giant with the 
great pistol, the party retired a little way to hold 
consultation respecting me. This I knew, because 
the rough gentleman, who held the pistol to my 
ear, grew a little communicative, telling me that 
they had all been to the fair of Bruree, where they 
had indulged pretty freely in strong liquors, and 
that he thought it likely, as they had made up their 
mind to take my life, that they were then only de- 
liberating in what manner to carry out their intention. 
" It is an. easy death enough," said this Job's com- 
forter, " to be strangled by a handkerchief, squeezed 
round the throat to a proper tightness ; it is as good 
.a way as any other to put a man into a deep bog-hole 
like that on the side of the road there ; but," he 
added, " for doing the thing genteelly, and making 
sure of quick work and little pain, I certainly would 
prefer a pistol like this, with a decent charge of can- 



A NIG 111 WITH THE WHITEBOYS. 227 

ister powder, and a brace of bullets or a couple of 
•slugs at the top to make all right." 

The conference by the way-side lasted so long, 
that I grew heart-sick with anxiety. I could see, 
by their unrestrained movements, that some of the 
party were disposed to wreak upon my person their 
revenge against my cousin, and that some were re- 
commending a milder process. Presently, the de- 
cision appeared to be made — whatever it might be. 
The same man who had already spoken to me, came 
"up again, and with him the rest of that precious con- 
clave. " My lad," said he, laying his hand upon my 
shoulder, " Do you know what we have made up 
•our minds to do?" I answered, that I did not know. 
" Some of us," said he, " think that, as you have met 
us to night, and may know some of us again, the 
best thing we could do would be to put you out of 
the way at once. And some of us think, that if we 
took your word, (though 3^011're only a bit of a boy,) 
not to mention that you have seen us, we might do 
worse than let you go home, though that home is 
the nest which she came out of." 

I fancied, from his manner, that I had not much 
cause to apprehend the more deadly alternative ; and, 
therefore, I answered, as boldly as I could, that I 
was quite willing to give my word not to mention 
that I had seen any of them, nor, at any time o£ 
place, attempt to recognize them. " While you are 
•deciding," I added, "recollect that this suspense be 



228 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

tween life and death is not the most pleasant thing 
in the world. And, for God's sake," said I, "rather 
put this hairy gentleman's brace of bullets through 
my head at once, than leave me shivering another 
half an hour in the cold." There was a laugh at what 
I said ; those who did not speak English eagerly re- 
quired it to be translated for them, and then the 
laugh grew Jouder, for all enjoyed it. "Faith," said 
the leader, " You're a bold lad to jest in that way,, 
with the muzzle of a pistol against your ear. Make 
your mind easy ; we would not hurt a hair of your 
head now. Go your way, and keep your promise. 
No matter when you meet any of us, don't let on 
that you have ever seen us before. And if you 
should ever fall in with bad company, in a by-way, 
on a night like this, just whisper ' Barry More! into 
the ear of any of the party, and you may pass 
through them as safely as if you were walking in a. 
drawing-room." This said, I had to shake hands, 
one by one, with each of the party; and they further 
insisted, with a pertinacity which would not brook 
denial, that half-a-dozen of them should escort me 
within a stone's throw. of my uncle's house. 

A few weeks after this rencontre, I saw a man at 
work in one of my uncle's fields, who seemed not quite 
a stranger to me. I took care that the recognition,. 
if any, should come from him. Accordingly, though 
I made the usual remark that it was a fine day, and 
asked some questions as to the prospects of the crops. 



A NIGHT WITH THE WHLTEBOYS. 229 

I did not seem as if I had over seen him before. How- 
ever, he had less discretion, for he said, " That was a 
narrow escape you had, down by the bog, that night, 
.sir." I asked what he meant? "Oh !" said he, "I 
do not mind talking to you about it now, for we 
have your word not to tell on us, and I know ver) 
well — for we have friends in every house, who tell 
us what passes — that not even to your uncle did you 
say a word about what happened that night. We 
tried to frighten you a bit, sir, but you stood up 
better than we expected. I had made up my mind, 
from the first, that not a hair of your head should 
be touched ; but it was not quite so easy to get the 
rest of the boys to my way of thinking. They had 
not the cause that I had for wishing you well." 

I told him, what was the plain truth, that I had 
no recollection of any particular cause why he, more 
than any of the rest, should have protected me. "Ah, 
•sir," said he, "people who do a kindness forget it, if 
the true vein be in them, sooner than those they do 
the kindness to. You may remember, sir, that 
.about ten years ago, when you were a child, the 
Master here was very angry with me for having 
neglected my work, by which the Mistress's garden 
was quite spoilt, and turned me off, when I had not 
the chance of getting work anywhere else, and owed 
■a quarter's rent for the little cabin and potatoe gar- 
den, and was entirely broke, hand and foot, — aye, 
and almost heart, too. At that time, sir, you were 



230 BITS OF BLARNEr. 

to the fore, witli the kind word, which you ever had, 
to turn away the Master's anger, and you got the 
Mistress to interfere; and when the Master took 
me on to work again, it was yourself, sir, that ran 
down to my little cabin and told me the good news,, 
and sat down at the table, with the children, without 
any pride, and eat the roasted potato and the salt,, 
and drank the butter-milk out of the same piggin 
with them. From that hour, sir, if laying down the 
lives of me and mine would prevent injury to one 
hair of your head, we would have done it. And 
that's the reason why your life was safe the other 
night, and they all granted it when I told them the 
ins and outs of the story." 

I saw little more of my champion, for I left that 
part of the country soon after, and have not been 
there since. 



BUCK ENGLISH. 

Some eighty years ago, there appeared, in that 
city of Ireland which is called "the beautiful," * a 
remarkable character, generally known as Buck 
English. This name — to which he answered — had 
been given him, it was said, on account of his fash- 
ionable appearance, manners and pursuits, and be- 
cause his accent clearly indicated that he came from 
England. At all events, in the year 1770, Buck 
English was a principal in the fashionable society of 
Cork — its observed of all observers, its glass of 
fashion, if not its very mould of form. 

Buck English had abundance of money, that great 
test and framer of respectability, and spent it freely. 
No man knew whence it came. Inquiries had been 
cautiously ventured upon by inquisitive people, but 
the only result arrived at was that rarely, if ever T 
did any remittance reach him through a banker. He 
frequently performed actions which might be called 
generous; but the real objects for benevolence, he 
used to say, were those who struggled to maintain 
appearances — who bore the arrow in their breast, 

* " ^he beautiful city called Cork."— Ir'tsh Sang. 

(231) 



232 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

and did not complain — who would rather die than 
ask for help ; for, as there is no energy like that of 
despair, there is no pride like that of poverty. Grati- 
tude sometimes would speak out; for parties whom 
his timely, unsought aid had rescued from ruin ; 
meeting hkn accidentally in public, could not be 
restrained from breathing blessings on the benefactor 
whose name they knew not ; and the occasional oc- 
currence of such things — which really were not got 
up for display — seemed to authorize the conjecture 
that Buck English was bountiful in many other in- 
stances which were not known. This belief, gen- 
erally received, operated so much in his favour, that 
many who would have probably disdained intimacy 
with one whose personal history was unknown, and 
who, therefore, might be an adventurer, did not hesi- 
tate to receive him at their houses — a concession 
which others, of more unquestioned station and 
means, vainly endeavoured to obtain. When stamped 
" sterling " by the select, no fear of his readily pass- 
ing into currency with all the rest. 

Hence, the conclusion may be arrived at, that 
Buck English was what a facetious friend calls a 
u populous character." He might have turned the 
sharp corner of five-and- thirty, and did not look 
older, even at his worst. Now, whatever five-and- 
thirty may be for a lady, — forcing on her, I fear, the 
brevet-rank of "a certain age," with Byron's inter- 
pretation, — it is the very prime of manhood. Thus, 






BUCK ENGLISH. 233 

in. this respect, Buck English was as fortunate as 
others. There was a drawback, it must be confessed 
— for who can be perfection? This was the cir- 
cumstance of his possessing features which, except 
under particular excitement, might be pronounced 
very ordinary. One might have excused the com- 
pressed lips, the sallow cheek, and the sharp face; 
but the expression of the eyes was not always favour- 
able. It appeared as if they were almost always 
anxiously on the watch. At times, when strongly 
excited, while the cheeks remained colourless, and no 
word breathed from the lips, the passion which cre- 
ated a heart-quake in the man did not allow its 
presence to be seen, except that it made the eyes 
flash — conveying the impression that their possessor 
must be rather dangerous under the influence of 
strong and deep emotions. It was not often that 
such manifestations were allowed to become appa- 
rent, for Buck English had powerful self-command. 
Notwithstanding the absence of what is called 
""good looks," he had succeeded in gaining the 
favourable opinion of Mary Penrose, a young lady 
who had recently succeeded to a very considerable 
property in the vicinity of Cork. Indeed, it was 
somewhat more than merely her favourable opinion. 
•I will even admit — on the understanding, of course, 
that it remain an inviolable secret — that Buck Eng- 
lish had made a strong impression on the young 
lady's mind; so much so, that, at the especial period 






234 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

at which this narrative introduces her, she was 
deliberating whether she should frankly admit to 
him, or deny for a little time longer, that he was 
master of the heart which fluttered — ah, how anx- 
iously ! — within the soft citadel of her bosom. 

She had met him that evening at a rout (so they 
called their fashionable parties in those days), and 
he had ventured to insinuate, rather more boldly 
than on any previous occasion, how much his happi- 
ness depended upon her. On the point of making 
a very gentle confession, (have you any idea how 
admirably blushes can convey what language dare- 
not breathe ?) a movement towards the retired part 
of the saloon in which they sat, apart from the danc- 
ers, startled the lady, while the exclamation, "Mary 
Penrose! — where can she be?" informed her that 
inquiries were being made for her. So, withdrawing 
her hand from that of her suitor, and making an ef- 
fort to appear calm and unembarrassed, she awaited 
the advent of the lady who had spoken. Presently 
came up her chaperon, a woman of high birth and scan- 
ty means, who condescended to reside with her. This 
personage — a mixture of black velvet and bugles, 
pearl-powder and pretence — gravely regarding Buck 
English, whom she did not like (because she thought 
it probable that he might succeed with Miss Penrose, 
and thereby make her own occupation " gone," like 
Othello's), said, with a low courtesy, "lam sure, sir, 
that, had you known what a pleasure you have been. 



BUCK ENGLISH. 235- 

depriving Miss Penrose of, you would scarcely liave 
detained her here. Mary, my dear, only think who 
has arrived ! — who but your cousin Frank ! He has 
been in the rooms half an hour, and has been anx- 
iously looking for you everywhere." 

Before a reply was made the cousin made his ap- 
pearance, and was received rather formally by Mary. 
However, Frank Penrose was an Irishman and a 
lawyer, and therefore not very likely to be put down 
or taken aback by a cold reception. He was intro- 
duced to Buck English, but the greeting between the 
gentlemen was by no means cordial. Buck English, 
saw a rival ; one, too, whom it was said Mary Pen- 
rose's father had been desirous to have as a husband 
for his only child ; while cousin Frank, to whom the 
chaperon had previously communicated the intimacy 
between the young lady and the dashing stranger, 
saw at a glance that it would have been quite a& 
well, perhaps, if he had not left her so much, in the 
way of becoming heart-stricken. 

"Shall I lead you down to supper?" he said. 
11 You know, Mary, that you and I have a. hundred 
things to talk about." 

" I am sorry, Frank," she answered, "that I can- 
not take the arm which you offer me gallantly. I 
had promised my partner, before you came, to avail 
myself of the advantage of his escort. Madame, I 
have no doubt, will be happy under your protection^ 
and you can unburthen your mind to her." 



236 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Thus it happened that Mary Penrose retained the 
-arm of Buck English, while Frank was handed over 
.to the dowager. 

" Confound the fellow I" said he, sotto voce, glancing 
at his rival. " On what a very familiar footing he 
has established himself with Mary. Can it be that 
she, who used to be so hard to please, is smitten 
with such a face?" 

" Yery likely," said the chaperot , "It was not the 
countenance, but the mind of Othello, that the bright 
Venetian was enamoured of. When the manners are 
agreeable and the intellect quick, the accident of a 
homely face speedily becomes of no importance. Per- 
haps it may even help to throw a woman offher guard." 

"It is a pity," continued Frank, "that I have 
delayed my return so long. I thought that your 
letters had exaggerated, if not invented, the danger. 
Assist me in deposing this gentleman, and my grat- 
itude shall be more than a name. I have always 
made so certain that Mary was to be my wife, that 
■this over-security had led me to neglect her. At 
all events, I can tell you that this Mr. English shall 
hot snatch such a prize from me without a struggle. 
I confess I do not like him." 

"Naturally enough. He is a rival, and appar- 
ently on the way to become a successful one." 

By this time they had reached the supper-table. 
Frank Penrose behaved with distant politeness to 
Buck English, who, as usual, was the centre of con- 



BUCK ENGLISH. 23T 

versation. As the hour advanced, Mary said to her 
cousin, "Can you tell me what o'clock it is, Frank? 
I have been so careless as to let my watch run 
down." 

Frank, with a smile, answered, "Two months 
ago I could have done so ; but one of the knights 
of the road met me in a lonely part of Kilworth 
Mountain, when last I was going from Cork to Dub- 
lin, and relieved me of all care of purse or watch." 

There was a smile at the cool manner in which 
the young lawyer related his loss, and then followed 
inquiry into the circumstances. 

" A very commonplace highway robbery, I do 
assure } 7 ou," said Frank. " All I have to say is, that 
I was encountered, as I rode on a lonely part of the 
road, by a gentleman who, taking me quite unpre- 
pared, put a pistol to my heart, demanding my cash 
and other portable property. As I had a foolish 
desire not to part with it quite so easily, I threw 
myself off my horse, and closed with my antagonist. 
His pistol went off in the struggle, without doing 
me any injury, and I drew my sword. My enemy,, 
who proved himself a better master of that weapon 
than I was, succeeded in disarming me ; forced 
me to surrender money, watch, and a few rings • 
mounted on nry horse, and rode off, but speed- 
ily returned, with the polite assurance that as 
he never saw a gentleman ;n distress without wish- 
ing to relieve him, he trusted I would accept a 



"238 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

few pieces from him, as he presumed I did not in- 
tend remaining on the bleak mountain all night, 
:and he knew, from experience, how disagreeable it 
was to be in a strange inn without money. He 
handed me five guineas, kindly adding that, if I 
wanted more, his purse — alas! it had been mine — 
^vvas entirely at my service." 

" Would you know the man again ?" 
" No. His face was partly covered with crape." 
Supper ended, Miss Penrose and the rest of the 
ladies retired, escorted to their carriages by the gen- 
tlemen, who then returned (it was the evil fashion 
•of the time) to drink their healths in a brimming 
bumper. One glass led to another, with the usual 
result — the libations were not to the Goddess of 
Ooncord. By accident, the name of Mary Penrose 
was mentioned,, with a congratulatory allusion to 
the good terms on which Buck English evidently 
was with her. Frank Penrose started from his 
chair, and angrily declared that his cousin's name 
should not be bandied about at a public table, and 
in conjunction, too, with that of a person of whom 
no one knew anything, and who, he could assert, 
was not acceptable to her family. He was about 
speaking further, when he was pulled down by his 
friends, who strenuously urged him to keep silent. 

Buck English remained so quiet under the inten- 
tionally offensive allusion to himself, that some of 
the companv began to think him deficient in cour- 



BUCK ENGLISH. 239 

age. The Irish way of answering an insult, in those 
clays, was to throw a glass full of wine in the of- 
fender's face, and follow that up by flinging the de- 
canter at his head. After a pause, Frank Penrose, 
whom nobody could restrain, repeated the insult in 
other and harsher words. This broke up the party. 
As they were leaving the table, Buck English leant 
across, and said, very quietly, "Mr. Penrose, for the 
lady's sake, I would not mix up her name with a 
midnight brawl in a tavern, but you are aware that 
your words must be withdrawn or atoned for ?" 

"Take them as you please," said Penrose. "I 
stand by them." 

"Then," answered the other, "I name Captain 
Cooper as my friend. Whom shall he meet on 
your part, and where ?" 

Pausing for a minute, during which he considered 
his course of action, Penrose said that in two days 
he expected a friend whose services he could com- 
mand on such a business, and hoped the delay 
would not be inconvenient. His antagonist inti- 
mated his assent by a distant bow, and thus, in far 
less time than I have been writing about it, was ap- 
pointed a meeting for life or death. The outward 
show of civility was maintained during the short 
time that they remained in the room, though feel- 
ings of deadliest enmity rankled beneath that smooth 
surface. 

As they were retiring, Penrose and English 



240 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

again were together, and the latter took advantage 
of this contiguity to ask at what time his friend 
should call upon Mr. Penrose's second ? 

"At ten on Thursday morning, at Daly's club- 
house." 

"Very well, and for whom shall he inquire?" 

"Let him ask for Mr. D'Arcy Mahon, the bar- 
rister." 

At that name, English shrunk or swerved as 
from a blow. 
1 " D'Arcy Mahon !" he repeated. 

" Yes," said Penrose. " Have you any objection 
to the gentleman ?" 

"None." 

On that they separated. 



That evening, on returning home, Mary Penrose 
applied herself, in the solitude of her chamber — the 
young heart's confessional — to serious thought upon 
that beleaguered and endangered Sebastopol, the 
state of her affections. It was evident that her cousiu 
was piqued at the idea of her having a preference for 
English, and that his arrival was likely to bring the 
affair to an issue. Mary paused for some time in 
doubt as to the course she should pursue. She had 
a regard for her cousin Frank ; but she confessed 
to herself, with conscious blush and sigh, that she 



BUCK ENGLISH. 241 

had other and more cherished feelings for English. 
It is proverbial how a woman's deliberations, in an 
affair of the heart, invariably end ; and so, having 
made up her mind in favour of Buck English, by 
far the most delightful companion — although not 
quite the handsomest — fate had thrown in her way, 
she retired to rest. 

• As she was unloosing the golden beauty of her 
luxuriant tresses, glancing now and then at a flower 
given to her by him, and carefully put into a water- 
vase on her dressing-room table, Mary Penrose heard 
a faint tap at the window. Withdrawing the curtain, 
she saw, in the pale moonlight, the face of him who, 
even then, was occupying her thoughts. He held 
up a note in his hand, which he placed upon the 
window-sill, and disappeared as suddenly as he had 
come before her. 

Opening the casement, she took the billet, and 
eagerly read it. In the strongest and most beseech- 
ing words, it urged her to speak with the writer for 
a few minutes ; — hinted that this would be the last 
time they would ever meet ; — and plainly declared 
that it related to an affair of life-and-death emergency. 
The urgency of this appeal, as well as her natural 
desire to see one in whom, now more than ever, she 
felt a deep interest, prevailed, and Mary Penrose, 
throwing a large shawl over her hastily -adjusted 
attire, quitted her chamber, silently proceeded down 
stairs, and opened the hall-door, at which she found 
11 



212 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

English waiting. Light of body and active of limb, 
lie had found little difficulty in ascending to Mary's 
window, by means of the thick ivy which luxu- 
riantly covered the front of the house, and his. 
descent had been yet more easily accomplished. 

When alone with Mary in one of the apartments 
in which she had frequently received him as a visitor, 
Buck English appeared overwhelmed by emotion. 
Quickly recovering himself, he addressed her in this 
manner : — -"I have to thank your kindness, Miss Pen- 
rose, for thus giving me the opportunity of taking 
leave of you. I am a dishonoured man, or shall be, 
and most publicly, too, if to-morrow sees me near 
this place. After you had retired this evening, youi 
cousin Frank fixed a personal quarrel upon me, which 
I endeavoured to avoid by acting and speaking with 
the greatest forbearance. I named the friend who 
would act for me in a matter so unpleasant, and 
your cousin asked for a slight delay until the arrival 
of the gentleman who would perform the like offices 
for him. The person whom he named is D'Arcy 
Mahon, — one of the few men in this country, under 
-existing circumstances, who must not see me, because 
I have the very strongest motives for avoiding him. 
Our meeting was fixed for Thursday, but I have 
just heard of Mr. Mahon's arrival, not an hour ago, 
which is two days earlier than Frank expected him." 

"I need not assure you," said Mary, "how very 
much grieved I am that there should be any duTei • 






BUCK ENGLISH. 243 

•ence between two persons whom I esteem so . luch — 
between yourself and Frank. But I know that Mr. 
Mahon is a most honourable man, and more likely 
to pacify than irritate any parties who are placed in 
his hands with hostile feelings to each other." 

'* There lives not the man," replied English, some- 
what haughtily, " who can say that I have at any 
time shrunk from giving or seeking the satisfaction 
which, in our strangely -constituted state of society, 
gentlemen must sometimes require or grant. But it 
is impossible that I can meet D'Arcy Mahon — whose 
high character I appreciate and esteem — on any 
terms, or under any circumstances, without his in- 
stantly and fatally recognizing me as one whom he 
iias met before, under a darker and different aspect 
of affairs." 

" You astonish and alarm me !" said Mary. " Will 
you not remove the veil from this mystery?" 

" Yes," said he, after some deliberation. " It is a 
sad confidence, but you are entitled to it. You have 
.heard of a person who is generally known as Captain 
•Spr anger ?" 

Mary said that she certainly had heard of the 
terror of travellers, the head of a band of highway- 
men, who had infested the South of Ireland for the 
previous two years. 

" The same. That man, outlawed as he is, with 
a price upon his head, I have reason to know is the 
younger son of one of the first commoners in Eng- 



24:4: BITS OF BLARNEY. 

land. Evil example and youthful impatience of 
control alienated him from his friends early in life, 
and sent him abroad upon the world, in different 
countries and among many grades of society, but 
not always in companionship with those by whom 
he could profit, in mind, body, or esta/te. At the 
close of many wanderings he found himself in 
Ireland, and accidentally became the companion or 
guest of a party of smugglers, who were banded 
together in the county of Waterford, and who, by 
their audacity and success, had challenged the notice 
of the Executive. Unfortunately, at the very period 
when the Englishman's love of wild adventure had 
thrown him into the society of these smugglers — as- 
it had often led him to spend a night in a gipsy 
encampment — at that very time treachery had be- 
trayed the band, who were surrounded by a strong 
military force before they knew they were in danger. 
To fight their way through this armed array, was 
what the smugglers determined on at the moment. 
Unwilling to remain and be captured, the chance- 
visitor of the night joined in the sortie, and made a 
dash for freedom. Some effected their escape with- 
out hurt, a few were wounded, some were captured. 
The Englishman was among the prisoners. The- 
Assizes were at hand, and as it was thought fit to 
make an example, as it is called, the trial of the 
smugglers was hurried on. The evidence against 
the Englishman was conclusive. He was found in 






BUCK ENGLISH. 245 

ai.nied array against the military, and in company 
with notorious law-breakers. What could he do? 
Pride made him conceal his name, he was indicted 
under that of Spranger (which he had never borne), 
was tried and convicted. When brought up to re- 
ceive sentence in the -assize court of Clonmel (where, 
for some reason, the trial took place), he thought he 
saw the opportunity for a bold effort. Light, active 
and strong, he vaulted out of the dock. The crowd 
instantly opened to conceal him, for there is a strong 
sympathy for persons accused of such breaches 
against the revenue law as he was believed to have 
committed. > Even while he was crouching down in 
the midst of the crowd, a great-coat, such as the 
peasantry wear, was thrown around him by one ; 
another bestowed upon him a cap made of fox-skin ; 
and a third whispered him to keep quiet, as, if he 
did not betray himself, his disguise was sufficient to 
defy suspicion and detection.* 

* Such an escape as this was actually made from the dock, 
during the Clonmel assizes, by the bold and notorious Buck Eng- 
lish, who afterwards found his way into the first society in Cork 
city and county. Indeed, the actual life of this man was paral- 
lel in many of its leading points to that of " Paul Clifford," the 
hero of Bulwer's brilliant fiction. The term " Buck " was 
usually bestowed on any fashionable bravo, in Ireland, who 
wore dashing attire, and indulged in all sorts of extravagances 
of expenditure and excess. There was " Buck Sheehy " of 
Dublin, as well as our own " Buck English " of Cork. In- 



246 BirS OF BLARNEY. 

" Incredible as it may appear — but I perceive that 
you have already heard something of this affair — 
Spranger remained in the court-house during the- 
whole day, while a strict out-of-doors' search was- 
made for him, and finally walked into the street, 
unchallenged, with the rest of the crowd, when the 
trials ended. He was literally alone, unfriended,, 
penniless, in a strange country. The men who had 
supplied him, on the impulse of the moment, with 
the means of baffling detection, kept their eyes upon,, 
and speedily came in his way, giving him the fur- 
deed, there were sufficient of the genus in Dublin to form, 
the majority of the " Hell-fire Club." who once set fire to 
their club-room, and remained in it until the flames actually 
burned the hair from their heads and the clothes from their 
bodies. This was done to decide the punishments of a future 
state ! Most of the " Bucks " were men of family, education* 
and wealth. Several peers were members of the community. 
At one time (the author of "Ireland sixty years ago," re- 
lates) there were three noblemen, brothers, so notorious for 
their outrages, that they acquired singular names, as indica- 
tive of their characters. The first was the terror of every one 
who met him in public places — the second was seldom out of 
prison — the third was lame, yet no whit disabled from his 
Buckish achievements. They were universally known by the 
names of " Hell-gate," " Newgate," and " Cripplegate." There 
were two brothers, one of whom had shot his friend, and the- 
other stabbed his coachman. They were distinguished as "Kill" 
Kelly " and " Kill-coachy." This reminds one of the Irish 
traveller, who said he had been to Kill-many and was going to. 
Kill -more. 



BUCK ENGLISH. Sx< 

tlier aid of shelter and food. What need I more say 
than that those men, who lived against the law, suc- 
ceeded in enrolling their guest among them. Reck 
lessness and utter want, in . the first instance, and 
the fear of being given up to the Government in the 
other, were his motives. Coupled with this, too, 
was a strong sense of injury at having been convict- 
ed, without crime, upon appearances. Not then, 
but many times afterwards, did he feel convinced 
that the Executive had brought him to trial only 
upon obvious and palpable facts. But, long before 
he came to take this view of the question, he had 
become leader of the band — now avowedly associ- 
ated for plunder, smuggling having been broken up, 
and the name and the daring of Captain Sprang- 
er are sufficiently notorious throughout the country 
now. 

" When he had completely identified himself with 
them, so as to obtain their unquestioning obedience, 
Spranger availed himself of the privilege of some- 
times leaving them for a short time — continuing, 
however, to regulate their movements, and parti- 
cipate in their gains — one of them always remaining 
with him to act as his servant, but actually as an 
unsuspected channel of communication with the 
band. Thus this captain of men beyond the pale 
of the law, has resided, at different times, in the 
principal cities in the South of Ireland. His last 
resting-place was here in Cork, where, under a name 



248 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

rather given to him by common consent than assumed 
by him, and with ample pecuniary means at his 
command, he contrived to be received into the best' 
society. But he had tired, long since, of the ruf- 
fianly association which he headed. One hope re- 
mained — that of offering his sword to one of the 
foreign States with whom he had formerly performed 
military service, and thus resuming the condition to 
which he was born. But, while taking measures to 
do this, he met, and became deeply enamoured of 
the loveliest and most engaging of her sex, and de- 
layed his departure — his exile — from a reluctance to 
quit the heaven of her smiles. Perhaps he even 
presumed to hope — to trust — that, under better cir- 
cumstances, he might even have ventured to hope 
that his suit would not have failed." 

Here he paused, to mark how Mary had borne 
this relation. Her face was covered with her hands 
— bat he could hear that she was sobbing. He con- 
tinued: — 

" You know, Mary, I perceive, that he who re- 
lates this story is the same Spranger whose name 
has made many a cheek pale, many a bold he'art 
tremble. D'Arcy Mahon was one of the counsel 
employed against me at Clonmel, and he knows every 
feature of mine so well that he could not fail to 
recognize me. He would identify me, also, as Cap- 
tain Spranger. If I remain, he meets me to-mor- 
row. Shame, disgrace, perhaps even death would 



BUCK ENGLISH. 249 

follow. 'Tis true that circumstances have made me 
what I am, but there is a Future, in action, for all 
who are willing to atone for past misconduct. I go 
forth to try and regain the position I have forfeited. 
Not in this country, nor yet in my own, can I hope 
to do this. But there other lands where Keputation 
and Fortune may be won, and in one of them I 
shall make the effort. To have known you — to find 
this wasted heart capable, even yet, of appreciating 
the beauty and purity of your mind, will console me 
in my long and distant exile. Farewell !" 

He bent on his knee to take and kiss that deli- 
cate hand. Did it really linger in his ? He looked 
upon that face of beauty. Did those violet eyes 
smile upon him through the dew which diamonded 
their long, dark fringes ? He heard a low, earnest 
whisper. Did it tell him to retrieve the past ; nor 
doubt, while doing so, of the due reward a loving 
heart will bestow? Did it softly say that he, and 
none but he, should hold that hand in marriage? 
Did it entreat him to write often — always hopingly? 
A long, long kiss on those ripe lips, on that damask- 
ed cheek, on that fair brow, and Buck English was 
away, as suddenly as he had come. 



How improbable! How unfeminme! How ut- 
terly at variance with all the conventionalities of so- 
ciety ! No doubt. But it is true. 
11* 



250 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

As for Mary's avowed love for such a person as 
— even on his own showing — English was, why seek 
to put it to the test of every-day thought ? 

" Why did she love him ! Curious fool, be still ; 
Is human love the growth of human will ?" 



The morning after the interview between Mary 
and her lover, considerable anxiety was caused in. 
the minds of his acquaintance by the fact of his dis- 
appearance,' and the report that he had met with 
some fatal accident. His horse had returned home- 
riderless, and a hat and glove, known to have been, 
worn by him, were found on the banks of the Lee, 
about two miles from Cork, a place where he was 
fond of riding at all hours. It was believed that 
he had been drowned. The authorities took posses- 
sion of and examined his effects, which were never 
claimed. There was not one line of writing among 
them, giving the slightest clue to his station in life, 
family, or identity. In a short time, he passed out 
of the memory of most of those who had known 
him. 

It was noticed that Mary Penrose appeared very 
much unconcerned at the loss of one for whom she- 
was believed to have felt some partiality. She was 
abused, of course, by her own sex, (and the more so, 
as she was ver v handsome,) for being "a heartless- 



BUCK ENGLISH. 251 

coquette." A few months later, when she had at- 
tained her legal majority, and with it full possession 
of her property, she unequivocally astonished her 
cousin Frank, by declining his proffered hand. Ere 
the year was ended, her estates were in the mar- 
ket, and their purchase-money invested in foreign 
securities. This done, Mary bade a long farewell to- 
the land of her nativity and the friends of her youth. 
Nor did any definite account of her subsequent life 
ever reach Ireland. 

In the fulness of time, there came rumours (which 
were credited) that somebody very like Buck English 
had obtained rank and reputation in the German 
service, and that, eventually retiring to a distant 
province of the Empire, he had turned his sword into' 
a ploughshare, and cultivated, with much success, a 
large estate which he had purchased there. It was 
added that a lady, whose personal description tallied 
with Mary Penrose's appearance, was the wife of this 
person; that they lived very happily with their 
numerous children around them ; that their retainers 
and dependents almost adored them for their constant 
and considerate kindness; and that, though they 
ever condemned crime, they united in questioning 
whether he who committed it might not have been 
led into it by Circumstance rather than Desire. 



ECCENTRIC CHARACTERS 



THE BAED O'KELLY. 

For many years, an individual, calling himself 
"The Bard O'Kelly," wandered through the South 
of Ireland, subsisting on the exacted hospitality and 
the enforced contributions of such as happened to 
be so weak as to dread being put by him into a 
■couplet of satirical doggerel, and thus held up to 
public scorn as wanting in liberality. An Irishman, 
be it known, will not submit to an imputation upon 
his generosity ; rather than have that questioned, he 
will give away his last sixpence, though the gift leave 
him without food. O'Kelly was shrewd enough to 
know this, and like the ale which Boniface so much 
praises in Farquhar's comedy, he " fed purely upon 
it" — in fact, it was meat, drink, clothing and lodg- 
ing to him. 

Until he published his "poems," no one knew on 
what very slight grounds his Bardship rested. His 
book — a thin, ill-printed octavo, called "The Hip- 
pocrene," — appeared, with a dedication, by permis- 
sion, to "the most noble and warlike Marquis of 
Anglesea," and underneath the inscription is the 
quatrain, 

(265) 



256 * BITS OF BLAKNEY. 

" duke decus ! thou art mine, 
What can I more or less say ? 
Presidium ! pillar of the Nine, 
Illustrious chief Anglksea ! !" 

In order, also, that the world might know what 
manner of man his bardling was, he had put his 
portrait as a frontispiece, and, with that character- 
istic modesty which indicated that he certainly had 
kissed the Blarney Stone, had engraved beneath 



" Sweet bard ! sweet lake ! congenial shall your fame 
The rays of genius and of beauty claim ; 
Nor vainly claim : for who can read and view, 
And not confess O'Kelly's pencil true ?" 

The lake here alluded to, is that of Killarney. In 
the year 1791, O'Kelly wrote what he called "a 
Poem" on the romantic scenery of Killarney. It. 
was written, but not published — recited by the bard, 
as the Iliad and Odyssey are said to have been by 
"the blind old man of Scio's rocky isle," — handed 
about in manuscript among friends, like much of the 
verse of the present day, when (because every third 
man is an author) hard-hearted booksellers refuse 
to purchase valueless copyrights, or even to pub- 
lish them, save at the sole expense and risk of the 
writers. 

So, in 1791, was written, not published, the Bard's 



257 

"Killarney," — a poem which (as he was wont to 
speak of it) "has all the depth of the lake it im- 
mortalizes, with the clearness, freshness, and spark- 
ling flow of its waters !" It may be thought a little 
egotistical for O'Kelly thus to praise his own writ- 
ings — but, surely, a man is the best judge of his own 
merit, and best acquainted with his own talents. I 
put it to every man of sense — that is, to every ] >er- 
son who completely coincides with my opinion, — 
whether, if a man does not think and speak well of 
himself, it can possibly be expected that any one 
else will? No; O'Kelly's self-praise was only a 
flourish to remind people what a genius they had 
among them — a Laputan flap to make the Irish 
world quite aware of the fact of his immeasurable 
merit. 

There was a rumour — but I hate scandal — that 
the Bard (being a poet, and lame to boot, like the 
Grecian) had an ambition to be the new Tyrtaeus of 
the Irish Eebels, in 1798. He has been seen to 
smile, rather assentingly, at " the soft impeachment," 
although, no doubt, while the insurgents were liable 
to punishment, he had very capital reasons for deny- 
ing it. AVhile the Civil War was raging, he went to 
the north-east of Ireland, and, his enemies say, with 
rebellious designs. But his own assertion, 

(" And truths divine came mended from his lips,") 



258 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

was, that the sole object of his tour was to compose 
i poem on the sublimities of the Giant's Causeway. 
Such a composition was written — for I have read it. 
But the greatest and best of men — from Socrates 
down to 0' Kelly — have been subjected to suspicion 
and persecution, and it happened that when the 
Bard showed himslf in the north, he was taken up 
jy the King's forces, and summarily committed to 
prison on suspicion that his visit was occasioned by 
a desire to discover a snug landing-place, on the 
Antrim coast, for the French — who, at that time, 
were about invading Ireland. 

Bad news travels very quickly. It soon was 
noised about Kerry, that the Bard had been taken 
up. As a story, like a snow-ball, increases as it 
travels, it was even added that the Bard had been 
— hanged ! 

On this, a wretch named Michael McCarthy — a 
Macroom man was this Bathylius to the Hibernian 
Maro — constituted himself heir-at-law and residuary 
legatee to the Bard's poetical effects, and, not having 
the fear of Apollo's vengeance before his eyes, had 
the barefaced audacity to publish eight hundred 
and forty lines of " Killarney," mixed up with certain 
versicles of his own, under the imposing name of 
"Lacus Delectabilis." 

The Bard 0' Kelly heard of this audacious appro- 
priation at the very hour when his trial was coming 



THE BAKD O' KELLY. 259 

on, and it took such effect upon his spirits that, to 
use his own figurative language, he " did not know 
at the time, whether he was standing on his head 01 
his heels." 

Brought for trial before a military tribunal, quick 
in decision and sharp in execution, there was so 
much presumptive evidence against him, that he was 
convicted without much delay, (his judges were in 
a hurry to dine,) and sentenced to be hanged early 
the next day. 

The emergency of the case restrung his shattered 
•energies. Kecovering the use of his tongue, he made 
a heart-rending appeal to the Court Martial ; nar- 
rated the vile plagiarism which had been committed 
on his beautiful and beloved Killarney; recited a - 
hundred lines of that sonorous composition, and con- 
cluded a very energetic harangue, by requesting 
"leave of absence," for a few weeks, in order that 
he might proceed to Kerry, there to punish M'Car- 
thy, for his dire offence against all the recognized 
rules of authorship. He even tendered his own bail 
for his reappearance to be hanged, as soon as, by 
performing an act of signal justice towards the 
plagiarist, he had vindicated that fame which, he 
said, was of more value to him than life. 

The manner and matter of this extraordinary ad- 
dress — such as never, before nor since, was spoken 
'.n a Court of Justice — were so extraordinary that 
the execution of the sentence was postponed. When 



260 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

the Civil War was over, the Bard was liberated.. 
" It was a £reat triumph for my eloquence," was his 
usual self-complacent expression, in after life, when 
speaking of this hair-breadth escape. To this day,. 
however, there are some who hint that the Court, 
considered him non compos mentis — too much of a 
fool to be a traitor and conspirator — and were mer- 
ciful accordingly. 

When O'Kelly returned home, he did not annihi- 
late M'Carthy in J^ie body — he did so in spirit: he- 
lampooned him. Finally, the plagiarist niade a 
public apology ; and an armistice was effected by 
the aid of copious libations of the " mountain-dew, n 
the favourite Hippocrene of Irishmen. 

The Bard's trip to the Giant's Causeway gave him 
a wonderful inclination for travelling. As itinerary 
rhyme-spinner, he continued to keep body and soul 
together ever since, in a manner which nothing but 
the brilliant invention of a verse-making Milesian 
could have dreamed of. Under the face of the sun 
no people so keenly appreciate, and so undeniably 
dread, satire as the Irish do. Few, it may be added, 
have greater powers in that line — and this without 
being imbued with less good-nature or more malice 
than other people. They particularly shrink from 
any imputation on their open-handed and open 
hearted hospitality. The Bard O'Ke'.ly knew that 
this sensitive feeling was the blot which he was to- 
hit. And on the results of this knowledge, he con- 



THE BAKD O'KELLY. 261 

trived to live well — to obtain raiment, money, lodg- 
ing, food, and drink, during the vicissitudes of about 
forty years. 

lie committed himself to a pilgrimage from place 
to place, through Ireland, always fixing his head- 
quarters at the residence of some country gentleman. 
Here he would abide for a week — a fortnight — or 
even a month, if he liked his quarters, and thought 
his intrusion would be tolerated so long. During 
his stay, his two horses, his son (for, being Irish, he 
had got married very soon), and himself, always 
lived "in clover." His valedictory acknowledg- 
ment, by which he considered that he repaid the 
hospitality extended to him, was a laudatory coup- 
let! If there were, or if there seemed to be, the 
slightest want of cordiality in his reception or enter- 
tainment, he would immediately depart, giving the 
delinquent to immortal infamy in a stinging couplet. 
When he had written a few score of these rhymes 
he used to get them printed (ballad- wise) on octavo 
slips of whity-brown paper, and each new page was 
added to its predecessor, by being pasted into a sort 
of scrap-book. This collection he called his "Poetic 
Tour," and he had only a single copy of it; and to 
this, which he promised to have printed in a regular 
book, at some future period, every one who enter- 
tained him was expected to subscribe from a crown 
to a guinea — subscriptions payable in advance. To this 
rule he had permitted only one exception. This was 



262 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

early in the present century, when the Chevalier 
Kuspini, (a tooth and corn extractor,) who travelled 
in Ireland as " Dentist to the Prince of Wales," sub- 
scribed, in the name of his Royal master, for fifty 
copies of the work ; and, on the strength of this, 
managed to dine, on three several occasions, with 
0' Kelly — being the only instance on record of his 
Bardship having ever played the host. 

I knew O'Kelly personally, when I was a lad, 
having met him, for the first time, at Drewscourt, in 
the county of Limerick, whither he came, purposely, 
to remain one day en passant, but did us the honour 
of staying for a fortnight. He made his first ap- 
pearance at dinner-time, and his knife and fork were 
wielded as effectively as if he had not used them 
during the preceding month. Until I saw O'Kelly 
feed, I had never realized the description of Major 
Dalgetty's laying in " pro vend " not only to make 
good the dinner he should have eaten yesterday, but 
to provide for the wants of to-day and to-morrow. 
In the course of the evening he exhibited other 
manifestations of industry and genius. He com- 
plained of labouring under a cold, which he under- 
took to cure by a peculiar process. This was no less 
than by imbibing about a dozen tumblers of hot and 
strong whiskey -punch, without moving from his 
seat. This, he assured us, was " a famous remedy 
for all distempers; good," added he, "for a cure,, 
and magnificent as a preventive." He condescended 



THE BARD o'KELLY. 263 

to inform us that, well or sick, this quantity was his 
regular allowance after dinner — when he could 
get it. 

He was loquacious in his cups. The subject of 
the Koyal visit to Ireland, in 1821, having been 
broached, 0' Kelly produced a printed account of his 
own interview with the monarch. This, he told us, 
had appeared in a newspaper called the Koscommon 
Gazette, and it was not difficult to guess at whose 
instance it had gained publicity. The account which 
he read for us was rather an improved edition, he 
said, as his friend, the Koscommon editor, had ruth- 
lessly cut out some of the adjectives and superla- 
tives. What he read was to this effect, accompanied 
with his own running commentary of explanation 
and remark : — 



" ' THE BARD O'KELLY AND THE KING.' " 

" You see, gentlemen, that I put myself first. 
Genius (he pronounced it janius) before greatness 
any clay ! 

" When his Most Gracious Majesty King George the Fourth 
— whom God and Saint Patrick preserve ! — paid his loving sub- 
jects a visit in August, 1821, the most eminent men of Ireland 
resorted to the metropolis to do him honour. Among them, was 
our distinguished and illustrious countryman, the Bard O'Kelly. 
Without his presence, where would have been the crowning 
rose of the wreath of Erin's glory ? And it is very creditable 



264 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

lo His Majesty's taste, that his very first inquiry, on entering 
the Yice-regal lodge, in Phoenix Park, was after that honour to 
our country, our renowned Bard, to whose beautiful produc- 
tions he had subscribed, for fifty copies, many years ago. 

"Yes, gentlemen, lie knew all about me. As he 
had inquired for me, I thought I could not do less, 
in course of common civility, than indulge him 
with the pleasure of a visit. But you shall hear : — 

" When the Bard reached Dublin, and heard of His Majesty's 
most kind and friendly inquiries, he sent a most polite autograph 
note, written with his own hand, to Sir Benjamin Bloomfield, 
announcing his own arrival, wishing His Majesty joy on his, and 
requesting Sir Benjamin to appoint a day, mutually convenient 
to the many important engagements of the Poet and the Mon- 
arch, when an interview between these distinguished personages 
should take place. With that true politeness and chivalrous 
courtesy which adorn and distinguish the Bard, he notified that, 
the King being a stranger, the Bard was willing to waive cere- 
mony, and wait upon him, to present a copy of his highly poeti- 
cal poems, for fifty copies of which the Chevalier Ruspini had 
subscribed, on behalf of His Majesty, when Prince of Wales. 

' : Indeed, they were to have been dedicated to him, 
but, as yet, I have not had but the one copy, which 
I have made up from the slips which have been 
S3parately printed, from time to time. Kind gentle- 
men, reading always makes me drouthy ; — may -be, 
one of ye will mix a tumbler for me? — not too 
strong of the water ; — christen the spirit, but don't 
drown it. Ah, that will do ! What a flavor it has ! 



THE BARD O'KELLY. 265 

" An answer was immediately sent by three servants in royal 
livery, requesting, if perfectly agreeable to O'Kelly, that lie 
would do His Majesty the favour of a friendly visit, the next day 
at four o'clock. 

" So I sent word to say that I'd be with him punc- 
tual. The next day I dressed myself very neat, 
put on my other shirt, gave my coat a brushing (a 
thing I don't often do, as it takes the nap off the 
-cloth), brightened the brass buttons with a bit of 
•chamois leather, went over the seams with a little 
vinegar and ink, polished my boots, so that you'd 
-see your likeness in them like a looking-glass, had 
myself elegantly shaved, and to the King I went. 
But you shall hear : 

" To this proposition the Bard politely assented, and went 
to the Castle of Dublin, at the appointed hour, the next day. 
There he sent his card to the King, with his compliments ; and 
Sir Benjamin Bloomfield immediately came down the Grand 
Staircase, and, with a most gracious message from His Majesty, 
handed him a fifty-pound bank-note, as the royal subscription to 
his admirable poems. 

" I won't deny that the sight and touch of the 
money were mighty pleasant ; but I said nothing. 
It was a larger sum than ever I had at any one time 
before, for my riches have always been of the head, 
rather than of the purse. I put the bank-note into 
my waistcoat-pocket, fastened it safely there with a 
12 



266 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

pin I took out of my cuff, and then — mind, not 
until then — I told Sir Benjamin But I'll read it: 

" O'Kelly (with that noble disregard for lucre which always 
distinguished our eminently patriotic, poetic, high-minded, much 
accomplished, and generous-hearted countryman) immediately 
told Sir Benjamin, that he would rather relinquish the money 
than abandon the anticipated pleasure of a personal interview 
with his Sovereign. 

" Mind — I had the fifty pounds snug in my pocket 
all the while. You may be certain that I wouldn't 
have spoken that way before fingering the cash. 

" On this most disinterested and loyal determination having 
been mentioned to His Majesty, he was so delighted with it, that 
he desired the Bard to be ushered instantly into the Grand Hall 
of Audience. This was done, and there the Most Noble the 
Marquis of Congynham had the honour of introducing His Majes- 
ty to the Poet. 

"Wasn't it a grand sight! There was the King 
on his throne, and all the great officers of State 
standing around him. In one hand the King held 
a sceptre of pure gold, and the other was stretched 
out to receive my book. On his head he wore a 
crown of gold, studded all over with jewels, and 
weighing half a hundred weight, at the very least. 
On his breast, in the place where a diamond star is 
usually represented in the portraits, His Majesty 
wore a bunch of shamrock, the size of a cauliflower 
Now you'll hear what occurred : — 



267 

4i Compliments being exchanged, the King descended from 
his throne, and had the pleasure of introducing the Marchioness 
of Conyngham, and all the other Ladies of the Bedchamber, to 
the Bard. * His Majesty, then — returning to his throne, and in- 
sisting that the Bard should occupy an arm-chair by his right 

side — said, " Mr. O'Kelly " " O'Kelly, without the Miste-; 

if you please," said the Bard, " Your Majesty would not say Mr- 
Shakspeare or Mr. Milton.' " True enough," said the King, " I 
sit corrected : I beg your pardon, O'Kelly. I should have 
known better. Well, then, O'Kelly, I am quite sure that I shall be 
delighted with your beautiful poems, when I've time to read, 
them." To this the Bard replied, " Your Majesty never spoke a 
truer word. I believe they'd delight and instruct any one. At 
this intelligent, and most correct observation, his Majesty was 
pleased to smile. He then added, " I'm sorry to see, by your 
iron leg, that you are lame." O'Kelly, with that ready wit for 
which he is as remarkable as he is for his modesty, instantly re- 
plied, " If I halt in my leg, I don't in my verses, for 

" If God one member has oppressed, 
He's made more perfect all the rest." 

It is impossible for words to describe the thunders of applause 
by which this beautiful extempore impromptu was followed. 

' I knew, well enough, that something smart would 
be expected from a man like me ; so I went pre- 
pared with several impromptus, to be introduced 
when the occasion would allow. 

" His Majesty then said, " It is really remarkable that you, 
and my friend Walter Scott, should both be lame." The Bard 
replied, " And Lord Byron also." His Majesty then observed, 
"It is a wonderful coincidence — the three great poets of the 
three kingdoms." At the request of the Marquis of Conyng- 



'268 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

ham, the Bard then made the following extemporaneous epigram 
on the spot, off hand, on this interesting subject : 

' Three poets for three sister kingdoms bom, 

"That's England, Ireland, and Scotland: — 

One for the rose, another for the thorn, 

" You know that the rose and thistle are the nation- 
al emblems of England and Scotland : 

' One for the shamrock, 

" That's poor old Ireland, — 

' which shall ne'er decay, 
"While rose and thorn must yearly die away.' 

" His Majesty was quite electrified at the ready wit displayed 
in this beautiful impromptu, and took leave of the Bard in the 
most affectionate and gracious manner. It is whispered among 
the fashionable circles, that 'Kelly has declined the offer of a 
Baronetcy, made to him by command of the Sovereign.' 

"Indeed," said the Bard, in conclusion, "the 
King and me were mutually pleased with each other. 
I'd have had myself made a Baronet, like Scott, but 
I have not the dirty acres to keep up the dignity. 
'Tis my private notion, if the King had seen me 
first, I'd have had ten times the money he sent me. 
Well, he's every inch a King, and here's his health." 



l'ou may judge, from what he printed and what 
he spoke, whether the modesty of the Bard was not 
equal to his genius. It is a fact, I understand, that 



THE BARD O'KELLY. 26'J 

he actually made his way to an audience with 
George the Fourth ; he must have rather astonished 
his Majesty. In his later years the Bard fluctuated 
between Cork and Limerick (in the last-named city 
of " beautiful lasses," he had a daughter very well 
married),* and, wherever he might be, was open to 
algebraic donations of strong drink — that is, "any 
given quantity." 

Such a fungus as the Bard O'Kelly could only 
have been produced in and tolerated by a very pe- 
culiar state of society. Out of Ireland he would 
have starved — unless he followed a different voca- 
tion. He was partly laughed at, partly feared. 
Satire was his weapon. His manners, attire, and 
conversation, would scarcely be endured now in the 
servants' hall ; yet, even as lately as twenty years 
ago, he forced his way into the company of respec- 
table people — aye, and got not only hospitality from 
them, but douceurs of wearing apparel and money. 
One comfort is, such a person would have little 
chance in Ireland now. 

The Bard O'Kelly died about fifteen years ago* 
having lived in clover for more than forty years, by 



* The saying in Ireland, when the locality of good-looking 
people is to be indicated, is — " Cork lads and Limerick lasses." 
In Lancashire, there is something like this in the familiar man- 
ner in which the natives speak of" Wigan chaps, Bolton fellows t 
Manchester men, and Liverpool gentlemen.'" 



270 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

appealing to the vanity or the fears of tnose whom 
he made his tributaries. Until he published, in 
1831, the world took it for granted, that even as he 
said, he had some poetic talent. The list of sub- 
scribers to his volume had between seven and eight 
hundred names, including ladies, peers of the realm, 
and members of Parliament. The "Bard's" want 
•of ability was companioned by want of principle — 
for two, at least, of the poems which he published 
.as his own, were written by others. One, com- 
mencing, "My life is like the summer rose," is the 
■composition of K. H. Wilde, a distinguished 
American man of letters; and another, beginning 
" On beds of snow the moonbeams slept," has been 
conveyed from the early poems of a writer named — 
Thomas Moore. There is cool intrepidity in pilfer- 
ing from a poet so universally known as Moore. 
When Scott visited Ireland, he was waited on by 
O'Kelly with the same "extempore impromptu " he 
had inflicted on George IV,, years before, and (Lock- 
hart relates) compelled the Ariosto of the North to 
pay the usual tribute — by subscribing to his poems. 
There are scores of Irishmen now in New York ? 
who were parsonally acquainted with O'Kelly, and 
can testify to the accuracy — I might even say the 
-moderation, of my description of him. 



FATHER PROUT. 

Those who have perused that polyglot of wis* 
dom and wit, learning and fun, wild eccentricity and 
plain sense, 'yclept " The Prout Papers," which 
originally appeared in Fraser's Magazine, during the 
•editorship of Dr. Maginn, may feel some curiosity 
respecting the individual whose name has thus been 
preserved (not unlike the fly in amber) through all 
literary time. They would naturally think, after 
admiring the rare facility of versification, the play- 
fulness, the fancy, the wit, the impetuous frolic, the 
deep erudition which distinguishes the said " Papers," 
that Father Prout must have been a wonderful man, 
gifted in an extraordinary manner. 

AVhat is there in the language more spirited than 
the Prout translations from Beranger ? As was said 
of Goethe's Faust, translated by Anster, the fact was 
transfused into our vernacular. What wondrous 
flexibility is given to the old Latin tongue, by the 
versions of Moore into that language! "What 
charming mastery of learning, as exhibited in the 
translations of " The Groves of Blarney " into a 
variety of tongues ! What grave humour in treating 
that original song as if it were only a translation! 

(271) 



272 BITS OF BLAKNEY. 

Two wits- -who not only belonged to Cork, but had 
seen a great many drawings of it in their time — 
were the perpetrators of this literary mystification.. 
Frank Mahony and Frank Murphy — a priest and a. 
lawyer. On their own hook, to use a common 
phrase, they have done nothing worth particular 
mention ; but some plants, we know, produce flowers, 
while others yield fruit. 

For a long time, in England, the full credit of the 
Fraserian articles was given to Father Prout. Then 
set in a spring- tide of disbelief, and the very existence- 
of such a man was doubted. Erroneous doubt ! for 
I have seen him — spoken to him — dined with him. 
The Father Prout, however, of real life was very 
different from him of the Prout Papers. He was 
parish-priest of Watergrass-hill, midway between the 
city of Cork and the town of Fermoy — a locality 
known as the highest arable land in Ireland. Prout. 
was one of the old priests who, when it was penal 
for a Catholic clergyman to exist in Ireland, picked 
up the elements of his education how he could, com- 
pleted it at a foreign university, and came back to 
Ireland, a priest, to administer the consolations of 
religion to the peasantry of his native land. Some- 
times, the Catholic priest evidenced to the last, in 
conduct and manners, that his youth had been 
passed in countries in which social civilization had 
extended further than in Ireland. Sometimes, the 
learning and the polish which had been acquired 



FATHER PROUT. 273 

abroad were forgotten at home — as the sword loses 
its brightness from disuse — and, living much among 
the peasantry, the priest lost a part of the finer cour- 
tesy of the gentleman, and assumed the roughness of 
the bulk of his parishioners. Wherever there was a 
resident Protestant landowner, the Priest of the olden 
time instinctively formed friendly relations with him 
— for, at that time, the priestly order was not inva- 
riably supplied from the peasantry, and tolerance 
was more declared and practiced by members of all 
persuasions, in Ireland, at that time than it is now. 
Prout was literally a " round, fat, oily man of God." 
He had a hand small as a woman's, and was very 
proud of it. He had an unconquerable spirit of good- 
humour, and it was utterly impossible for any one to 
be in his company for ten minutes without feeling 
and basking in the sunshine of his buoyant and 
genial good-nature. Of learniug he had very little, 
I do not know what his share might have been half 
a century before, when he was fresh from Douay or 
the Sorbonne, but few traces were left in his latter 
years. In the society of his equals or his superiors, 
Prout could keep up the shuttlecock of conversation 
as well as any one, and in the fashion of the place 
and class, but he was equally at home amid the fes • 
tivities of a country wedding, or the genialities of 
the hospitable entertainment which followed the 
holding of a country Station at a rich farmer's 
domicile. 

12* 



274 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

What the world lias received as " The Reliques 
of Father Pro at," owes nothing to the little pa- 
drone. Lie had a strong sense of the humourous, and, 
when the fancy seized him, was not very particular 
how or where he indulged it. 

Prout, residing only nine miles from Cork, fre- 
quently visited that city, where he had a great many 
acquaintances, at all times glad to see him. In one 
Protestant family with which he was intimate, there 
were several very handsome daughters, full of life 
and high spirits, who especially delighted in drawing 
out the rotund priest. He had repeatedly urged 
them to " drop in " upon him, some day ; and when 
the spirit of fun was strong, early on a Sunday 
morning in June, they ordered out the carriage, and 
■directed their Jehu to drive them to Watergrass- 
hill. 

Now, though that terminus was only nine (Irish*) 
miles distant, the greater part of the way — certainly 
all from Glanmire — was terribly up-hill. The result 
was that, instead of reaching Father Prout's about 
ten o'clock, as they had anticipated, they did not 
draw up at his door until an hour and a half later, 
-ind were there informed that "his Reverence had 

* Irish miles are longer than English, in the proportion of 11 
to 14. A traveller complained to the chaise-driver of the nar- 
rowness of the way. " Oh, then," said the man, " why need you 
be angry with the roads ? Sure, we make up in the length for 
the scanty measure we get in the width." 



FATHER PROUT. 2,5 

just gone off to last mass." They determined to 
follow him, partly from curiosity to see in what man- 
ner divine worship was performed in a Catholic 
chapel. 

The chapel in which Father Prout officiated was 
by no means a building of pretension. At that 
time the roof was out of repair, and, in wet weather, 
acted as a gigantic shower-bath. The floor, then, 
consisted of beaten earth, which was somewhat of a 
puddle whenever the rains descended and the winds 
'blew. The Cork ladies soon found the chapel, en- 
tered it, and (accustomed to the rich churches of 
their own persuasion) gazed in wonder on the hum- 
ble, unadorned place of worship in which they stood. 
It may literally be said "in which they stood," for 
there were no pews, no chairs, not even a solitary 
stool. 

Presently the chapel began to fill, and "the 
pressure from without " gradually drove the ladies 
nearer and yet nearer to the altar. At length 
Father Prout entered in his clerical attire, and com- 
menced the service. In Catholic churches the priest 
officiates, during the early part of the service, with 
h is face to the altar, and his back to the congrega- 
tion. Thus, it happened that Prout never saw his 
Cork friends until the time when he turned round to 
the congregation. Then he beheld them, hand- 
somely and fashionably attired, standing up (for the 
floor was too puddled to allow them to soil their 



276 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

vesture by kneeling, as every one else did), the gazed- 
at by all beholders, looking and feeling the reverse 
of comfortable. 

Father Prout immediately looked at his clerk, 
Pat Murphy, — an original in his way, — caught his. 
eye and his attention, and gently inclining towards 
him, whispered, "send for three chairs for the la- 
dies." Pat, who was a little deaf, imperfectly caught 
his master's words, and turned round to the congre- 
gation and roared out, "Boys! his Reverence says,. 
' Three cheers for the ladies.' " The congregation,, 
obedient and gallant, gave three tremendous shouts, 
to the surprise of the ladies and the horror of the 
priest. There was a good deal of merriment when 
the mistake was explained, but to his dying day 
Father Prout was reminded, whenever he visited 
Cork, of the " Three cheers for the ladies." 

Pat Murphy, his clerk, was quite a character. 
lie arfected big words, and was mortally offended 
whenever anyone called him clerk or sexton. "I 
pity the weakness of your intellectual organization," 
he wo aid contemptuously exclaim. "If you had 
only brains enough to distinguish B from a bull's 
foot, you would appreciate my peculiar and appro- 
priate official designation. The words ' clerk ' and 
' sexton ' are appellations which distinctify the 
menial avocations of persons employed in heretical, 
places )f worship. My situation is that of Sa- 
cristan and my responsible duty is to act as cub- 



fatheh piiOCT. 277 

todian of the sacred utensils and vestments of the 
chapel." 

Murphy had an exaggerated idea of the abilities 
•of his principal, and stoutly maintained that if the 
Pope knew what was good for the Church, he would 
long since have elevated Father Prout to the epis- 
copal dignity. His chief regret, when dying, was, 
that he did not survive to see this consummation. 

Sometimes Pat Murphy would condescend to en- 
ter into a viva voce controversy with one of the 
"heretics," (as he invariably designated the Protes- 
tants,) on the comparative merits of the rival church- 
es. His invariable wind-up, delivered gravely and 
.authoritatively, as a clincher, to which he would per- 
mit no reply, was as follows : — " I commiserate your 
condition, which is the result of your miserable ig- 
norance. Unfortunate individual! out of the New 
Testament itself I can prove that your religion is 
but a thing of yesterday. With' you Protestants 
the Apostle Paul had not the most distant acquaint- 
ance, whereas he corresponded with us of the Holy 
Homan Church. You doubt it? Know you not 
that, from Corinth, he wrote an Epistle to the Ro- 
mans, and if the Protestants were in existence then, 
and known to him, why did he not as well send an 
Epistle unto them f ' 

Father Prout was short and rotund. His Sacris- 
tan was tall and thin. Immemorial usage permits 
the clerical cast-off garments to descend, like heir- 



278 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

looms, to the parish clerk. Pat Murphy, in the 
threadbare garments which erst had clothed the ro- 
tundity of Father Prout, was a ludicrous looking 
object. The doctrine of compensation used to be 
carried out, on such occasions, with more truth than 
beauty. The waist of the priest's coat would find 
itself under Murphy's arms, the wristbands would 
barely cover his elbows, and the pantaloons, sharing 
the fate of the other garments, would end at his 
knees, leaving a wide interval of calf visible to pub- 
lic gaze. On the other hand, by way of equivalent,, 
the garments would voluminously wrap around him,, 
in folds, as if they were intended to envelope not one 
Pat Murphy, but three such examples of the math- 
ematical definition, "length without breadth." On 
one occasion I had the double satisfaction of seeing 
Father Prout, like Solomon, in all his glory, with Pat 
Murphy in full costume. It happened in this wise r 
There was pretty good shooting about Watergrass- 
hill, and the officers of an infantry regiment, who 
Avere quartered at Fermoy, at the period to which I 
refer, had made Prout's acquaintance, while peppering 
away at the birds, and had partaken of a capital im- 
promptu luncheon which he got up on the moment. 
Prout, it may be added, was in the habit of receiving 
presents of game, fish and poultry from his friends in 
Cork, (the mail-coaches and other public conveyances 
passing his door several times every day,) and as 
long as Dan Mergher, of Patrick- street, was in the 



FATHER PKOUT. 279 

wine-trade, be sure that his friend, Father Prout, did 
not want good samples of the generous juice of the 
grape Of course, he also had a supply of real 
potheen. Cellar and larder thus provided for, Prout 

was fond of playing the host. 

A great intimacy speedily sprung up between 
Prout and his military friends, and he partook of 
numerous dinners at their mess in Fermoy Barracks. 
At last, determined to return the compliment, he 
invited them all to dine with him at Watergrass-hilL 
One of my own cousins, who happened to be one of 
the guests, took me with him - on the Eoman plan,. 
I presume, which permitted an invited' guest to bring 
his shade. I was a youngster at the time, but re- 
member the affair as if it were of yesterday. 

If there was any anticipation of a spoiled dinner,. 
it was vain. Prout, who was on intimate terms with 
all his neighbours for half a dozen miles round, had 
been wise enough to invoke the aid of the Protestant 
rector of Watergrass-hill, who not only lent him 
plate, china, and all other table necessaries, but — 
what was of more importance — also spared him the 
excellent cook who, it was said, could compose a 
dinner, in full variety, out of any one article of food. 
Each of the officers was attended at table by his 
own servant, and Pat Murphy, in fall dress, officiated 
as servitor, at the particular disposal of Father 
Prout himself. 

The dinner was excellent, — well-cooked, well- 



280 BITS OF BLAKNEY. 

served, and worthy of praise for the abundance, va- 
riety, and excellence of the viands. There was every- 
thing to - be pleased with — nothing to smile at. 

I beg to withdraw the last four words. There was 
Pat Murphy, in an ex-suit of Prout's, looking such a 
figure of fun, that, on recalling the scene now, I won- 
der how, one and all, we did not burst into a shout of 
laughter when he first was presented to view. He 
looked taller, and scraggier, and leaner than usual — 
his clothes appearing greater misfits than ever ! Prout, 
who kept his countenance remarkably well, evidently 
saw and enjoyed the ludicrous appearance of his 
man. On the other hand, the man, taking on him- 
self the duties of Major Domo, ordered the other 
attendants about in all directions, muttering curses 
between his teeth whenever they did not do exactly 
as he commanded. But everything Avent off gaily, 
and Prout's rubicund face became redder and more 
radiant under the influence of this success. 

In the course of the entertainment, Father Prout, 
addressing his attendant, said, " Pat, a glass of 
porter, if you please." The liquor was poured, and, 
as it frothed in the glass, Prout raised it to his lips 
with the words, " Thank you, Pat." Waiting until 
he had completed the draught, Pat, in a tone of 
earnest remonstrance, said, " Ah, then, your Eever- 
ence, why should you thank me for what's your 
own? It would be decent for these genteels who 
are dining here, to thank me for the good drink. 



FATHER PROL'T. 281 

"but you've no right to do anything of the sort, seeing 
that the liquor is your own. It is my supplication 
that you will not do so again ; there is an incongruity 
in it which I disrelish." We had some difficulty in 
not laughing, but contrived to keep serious faces 
during this colloquy. 

The liberal itv of the little Padre had provided us 
with three courses, and just as Pat Murphy was in 
the act of relieving a noble roasted haunch of mutton, 
before his master, by a dish of snipe, he happened to 
look out of the window and see one of his own 
familiar associates passing along the street. Hastily 
flinging down the dish, he threw up the window, and, 
kneeling down, with his long arms resting on the 
sill, loudly hailed his friend, " Where are ye going, 
Tom ?" The answer was that a dance was expected 
in the neighbourhood, and at which, of course, Pat 
would be "to the fore." Now, the said Pat, very 
much like Ichabod Crane in figure, had a sort of 
sneaking desire, like him, to be wherever pretty 
women were to be seen. "No," said Pat, "I do 
not anticipate to be relieved in any thing like proper 
time from attendance here this evening. His 
Reverence, who has been ating and drinking, with 
remarkable avidity, on the military officers down in 
Fermoy, is hospitable to-day, and entertains the 
whole squad of them at dinner. To see them ate. 
you'd think they had just got out of a hard Lent. 
'Tisn't often, I dare say, that they get such a feast. 



232 bits Of blarney. 

There's the mutton sent by Chetwood of Glanmire ; 
and the poultry by Cooper Penrose of Wood-hill ; 
and the lashings of game by Devonshire of Kilshan- 
neck ; and the fruit by Lord Riversdale of Lisnegar 
— that is, by his steward, for 'tis little his Lordship, 
sees of the place that gives him a good six thousand 
a year; — and the barrel of porter from Tommv 
Walker of Fermoy; and the wine from red-faced 
Dan Meagher of Cork; and everything of the best. 
Depend on it, the officers won't stir until they have 
made fools of all the provender. By-and-bye, that 
the poor mightn't have a chance of the leavings, they 
will be calling for grilled bones, and devilled legs 
and gizzards. No, Tom, my mind misgives me that 
I can't go to the dance this evening. Here's the offi- 
cers, bad 'cess to them, that are sedentary fixtures 
until midnight." 

This oration delivered, — and every one had been 
silent while Pat Murphy was thus unburthening his 
mind, — he arose from his knees, closed the window,, 
and resumed his place behind Father Prout, with " a 
countenance more of sorrow than of anger," calm 
and unconcerned as if nothing had occurred out of 
the ordinary routine. At that moment, Prout threw 
himself back on his chair, and laughed until the tears 
rolled down his cheeks, and thus encouraged, the 
company followed his example, and laughed also. 
When the mirth had subsided, it was almost re- 
newed by the solemn countenance of Pat Murphy > 



FATHER PROUT. 288 

grave rather than severe — a sort of domestic 
Marius sitting, in sad contemplation, amid the ruins 
of Carthage. 

Father Prout had rather a rough set of parishioners 
to deal with. He could be, and was, very much of 
the gentleman, but it pleased him to appear plain 
and unpolished to those among whom his lot was 
cast. At times, when nothing else would do, he 
would address them, in an exhortation, very much 
in the spirit of Swift's "if you like the conditions, 
down with the dust!" At such times, Rabelais, "in 
his easy chair," would have smiled, and Swift him- 
self would have hailed Prout as a congenial spirit. 

I have a memorandum of one of these sermons. 
The object was to collect some arrears of " dues " 
from certain non -paying parishioners, (constituting, 
rather a large portion of his congregation,) and I 
have been told that the discourse was much to this 
effect : 

FATHER PROUT'S SERMON. 

Somewhere in the Scriptures it is written, that 
whoever gives to the poor lends to the Lord. There 
are three reasons why I don't tell you exactly where 
this may be found. In the first place, poor creatures 
that you are, few of you happen to have the author- 
ized Douay edition, printed and published by Richard 
Coyne of Dublin, and certified as correct by Arcn- 
bishop Troy, and the other heads of the Church in 



'2S4 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Ireland — few among }^ou, I say, have that, though I 
know that there is not a house in the parish with- 
out a loose song-book, or the History of the Irish 
Rogues. In the second place, if ye had it, 'tis few 
of ye could read it, ignorant haythens that ye are. 
And in the third place, if every man-jack of ye did 
possess it, and could read it, (for the Church still ad- 
mits the possibility of miracles,) it would not much 
matter at this present moment, because it happens 
that I don't quite remember in what part of it the 
text is to be found ; — for the wickedness of my flock 
has affected my memory, and driven many things 
clean out of my head, which it took me a deal of 
trouble to put into it when I was studying in foreign 
parts, years ago. But it don't matter. The fault is 
not mine, but yours, ye unnatural crew, and may-be 
ye won't find it out, to your cost, before ye have been 
five minutes quit of this life. Amen. 

"He who gives to the poor." — Ye are not skilled 
in logic, nor indeed in anything that I know except 
playing hurley in the fields, scheming at cards in 
public-houses for half gallons of porter, and defraud- 
ing your clergy of their lawful dues. What is worse, 
there's no use in trying to drive logic into your 
heads, for indeed that would be the fulfilment of 
another text that speaks of throwing pearls before 
pigs. But if ye did know logic — which ye don't — 
ye would perceive at once that the passage I have 
just quoted naturally divides itself into two branches. 



FATHER PROUT'S SERMON. 285- 

The first involves the giving ; that is, rationally and 
syllogistically considered, what ye ought to do. 
And the second involves the poor ; that is, the re- 
ceivers of the gifts, or the persons for whom ye 
ought to do it. 

First, then, as to the giving. Now it stands to 
reason that, as the Scripture says in some other 
place, the blind can't lead the blind, because may- 
be they'd fall into the bog-holes, poor things, and 
get drowned. And so, though there really is won- 
derful kindness to each other among them, it is not 
to be expected that the poor can give to the poor. 
No, the givers must be people who have something 
to give, which the poor have not. Some of ye will 
try and get off on this head, and say that 'tis gladly 
enough ye'd give, but that really ye can't afford it. 
Can't ye ? If you make up your minds, any one 
of you, to give up only a single glass of spirits, 
every day of your lives, see what it will come to in 
the course of a year, and devote that to the Church 
— that is to the Clergy — and it will be more than 
some of the well-to-do farmers, whom I have in my 
eye at this blessed moment, have had the heart to 
give me during the last twelve months. Why, as 
little as a penny a day comes to moie than thirty 
shillings in the year, and even that insignificant 
trifle I have not had from some of you that have the 
means and ought to know better. I don't want to 
mention names, but, Tom Murphy of the Glen, I 



"286 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

am afraid 1 shall be compelled to name you before 
the whole congregation, some day before long, if 
you don't pay up your lawful dues. I won't say 
more now on that subject, for, as St. Augustine says, 
"A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse." 

Now, the moral of the first part being clearly 
shown, that all who can give ought to give, the next 
branch is to whom should it be given? The blessed 
text essentially states and declares "to the poor." 
Then follows the inquiry, who's "the poor." The 
whole matter depends on that. 

I dare say, ignorant as ye are, some of you will 
think that it's the beggars, and the cripples, and the 
blind travellers who contrive to get through the 
length and breadth of the country, guided by Prov- 
idence and a little dog tied to their fingers by a bit 
of string. No, I don't want to say one mortal word 
against that sort of cattle, or injure them in their 
honest calling. God help them. It's their trade, 
their estate, their occupation, their business to beg 
— just as much as 'tis Pat Mulcahy's business to 
tailor, or Jerry Smith's to make carts, or Tom 
Shine's to shoe horses, or Din Cotter's to make 
potheen, and my business to preach sermons, and 
save your souls, ye heathens. But these ain't "the 
poor" meant in the text. They're used to begging, 
and they like to beg, and they thrive on begging, 
and I, for one, wouldn't be the man to disturb them 
in the practice of their profession, and long may it 



FATHER PROUT'S SERMON. 287 

be a provision to them and to their heirs for ever. 
Amen. 

May-be, ye mean-spirited creatures, some among 
yon will say that it's yourselves is " the poor." 
Indeed, then, it isn't. Poor enough and niggardly 
ye are ; but you ain't the poor contemplated by holy 
Moses in the text. Sure 'tis your nature to toil and 
to slave — sure 'tis what ye're used to. Therefore, 
if any one were to give anything to you, he would 
not be lending to the Lord in the slightest degree, 
but throwing away his money as completely as if 
he lent it upon the security of the land that's covered 
by the lakes of Killarney. Don't flatter yourselves, 
any of you, for a moment, that you are "the poor." 
I can tell you that you're nothing of the sort. 

Now, then, we have found out who should be the 
givers. There's no mistake about that — reason and 
logic unite in declaring that every one of you, man, 
woman and child — should give, and strain a point to 
do it liberally. Next, we have ascertained that it's 
" the poor " who should receive what you give. 
Thirdly, we have determined who are not " the poor." 
Lastly, we must discover who are. 

Let each of you put on his considering cap and 
think. — Well, I have paused that you might do so. 
Din Cotter is a knowledgeable man compared with 
the bulk of you: I wonder whether he has discov- 
ered who are " the poor." He shakes his head — but 
there is not much in that. Well, then, you give it 



288 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

up. You leave it to me to enlighten you all. Learn r 
then, to your shame, that it's the Clergy who are 
" the poor." 

Ah! you perceive it now, do you? The light 
comes in through your thick heads, does it ? Yes, 
it's I and my brethren is " the poor." We get our 
bread — coarse enough and dry enough it usually is 
— by filling you with spiritual food, and, judging by 
the congregation now before me, its ugly mouths 
you have to receive it. We toil not, neither do we 
spin, but if Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed 
better than we are, instead of being clothed in ver- 
min and fine linen, 'tis many a time he'd be wearing 
a thread-bare black coat, white on the seams, and ou 4 » 
at the elbows. It's the opinion of the most learned 
scholars and Doctors in Divinity, as laid down before 
the Council of Trent, that the translation is not suf- 
ficiently exact in regard of this text. And they 
recommend that for the words " the poor," we should 
substitute " the clergy." Thus corrected, then r 
the text would read " he who gives to the Clergy, 
lends to the Lord," which, no doubt, is the proper and 
undiluted Scripture. 

The words of the text are thus settled, and you 
have heard my explanation of it all. Now for the 
application. Last Thursday was a week since the 
fair of Bartlemy, and I went down there to buy a 
horse, for this is a large parish, and mortification 
anil fretting has puffed me up so, that, God help 



father prout's skrkon. 289 

me, 'tis little able I am to walk about to answer all 
the sick calls, to say nothing of stations, weddings, 
and christenings. Well, I bought the horse, and it 
cost me more than I expected, so that there I stood 
without a copper in my pocket after I had paid the 
dealer. It rained cats and dogs, and as I am so 
poor that I can't afford to buy a great coat, I got 
wet to the skin, in less than no time. There you 
were, scores of you, in the public houses, with the 
windows up, that all the world might see you eating 
and drinking as if it was for a wager. And there 
was not one of you who had the grace to ask, 
" Father Prout, have you got a mouth in your face ?" 
And there I might have stood in the rain until this 
blessed hour (that is, supposing it had continued 
raining until now), if I had not been picked up by 
Mr. 'Mun Roche, of Kildinan, an honest gentle- 
man, and a hospitable man I must say, though he 
is a Protestant.* He took me home with him, and 
there, to your eternal disgrace, you villains, I got as 
full as a tick, and 'Mun had to send me home in his 
own carriage — which is an everlasting shame to all 
of you, who belong to the true Church. 

Now, I ask which has carried out the text ? You 
who did not give me even a poor tumbler of punch, 
when I was like a drowned rat at Bartlemy, or 'Mun 
Roche, who took me home, and filled me with the 

* Created Lord Fermoy in 1855. 
13 



290 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

best of eating and drinking, and sent me to my own 
house, after that, in his own elegant carriage ? 
Who best fulfilled the Scripture ? Who lent to 
the Lord, by giving to his poor Clergy ? Kemem- 
ber, a time will come when I must give a true ac- 
count of you : — what can I say then ? AVon't 1 
have to hang down my head in shame, on your 
account ? 'Pon my conscience, it would not much 
surprise me, unless you greatly mend your ways, 
if 'Mun Roche and you won't have to change places 
on that occasion : he tc sit alongside of me, as a 
friend who had treated the poor Clergy well in this 
world, and you in a certain plac°, which I won't 
particularly mention now, except to hint that 'tis 
little frost or cold you'll have in it, but quite the 
contrary. However, 'tis never too late to mend, 
and I hope that by this day week, it's quite another 
story I'll have to tell of you all. — Amen. 



IRISH DANCING -MASTERS. 

FiVE-and-twenty years ago, when I left Ireland, 
the original or aboriginal race of country dancing- 
masters was nearly extinct. By this time, I pre- 
sume, it has almost died out. Here and there a few 
may be seen, 

" Rari nantes in gurgite vasto," 

but the light-heeled, light-hearted,- jovial, genial fel- 
lows who were actual Masters of the Revels in the 
district to which they respectively belonged, are no- 
where. 

There used to be as much pride (and propert}^) in 
a village dancing-master as in a village schoolmas- 
ter, in my young days, and I have heard of "many 
accidents by flood and field," caused by attempts to 
remove a dancing-master or a pedagogue, of high 
reputation, from one district to another. In such 
cases, the very abduction being the strongest possi- 
ble compliment to his renown, the person who 
was "enticed away by force," always made a point 
of offering no resistance, and would passively and 
proudly await the result. Indeed, care was always 
taken that such removal should be actual prefer- 
ment, as, to ameliorate his condition, the residence 

(291) 



292 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

provided for him in the new village, township, or 
barony, was always better than that from which he 
was removed. 

As a general rule, the abduction, of schoolmas- 
ters was a favorite practice in Kerry — where every 
man and boy is supposed to speak Latin* — while 
stolen dancing-masters did not abound in the neigh- 
bouring counties of Cork and Limerick. The nat- 
ural inference is that the County Kerry-men pre- 
ferred the culture of the head, while the others 
rather cared for the education of the heels. 

To have a first-rate hedge-schoolmaster was a 
credit to any parish. To have engrossed the services 
of an eminent maitre cle danse was almost a matter 
of considerable pride and boasting, but to possess 
both of these treasures was indeed a triumph. 

* There are full grounds for this assertion. Classical learning 
has flourished in Kerry (under a hedge) from time immemorial. 
I recollect an illustrative anecdote. Two poor scholars who 
were travelling through Kerry, came to a farm-house, when 
faint with hunger, and foot-sore with walking ; they went in, and 
modestly wanted " a drink of water," which was given them. 
On leaving the house, where they had expected something bet- 
ter than this scant hospitality, one of them exclaimed, " Ah, Pat, 
that's not the way that a farmer's wife would trate a poor schol- 
ar in our part of the world. ' lis the good bowl of milk she'd 
give him, and not the piggin of cold water. She's a malus mur 
Her." The other responded "Say mala — it must be so to agree 
with the feminine mulier. Don't you know that malus mulier 
is bad Latin?" " Hold your tongue," was the answer : " what- 
ever it is, it is only too good for a niggard like her." 



IRISH DANCING MASTERS. 293 

There was more pride, perhaps, in having a school- 
master of great repute — more pleasure in owning a 
dancer of high renown. The book-man was never 
known to dance, and the village Vestris was rarely 
able to write his name. Thus they never clashed. 
One ruled by day, and the other had unquestioned 
sovereignty in the hours between dusk and dawn. 

Such a being as a youthful dancing-master I never 
saw — never heard of. They were invariably mid- 
dle-aged men, at the youngest; but professors of 
"the poetry of motion," who were about seventy, 
appeared the greatest favourites. It was dreaded, 
perhaps, that the attraction of youth and good danc- 
ing combined would be too much for the village 
beauties to resist. On the same system, in all prob- 
ability, it was a sine qua non that the dancing-mas 
ter should be married. 

The Irish peasantry used to have a sort of pas- 
sion for dancing. Hence the necessity for a teacher. 
On stated evenings during the winter, no matter 
what obstacles wet weather or dirty roads might 
present, a large company of pupils, from the age of 
ten to forty years, would assemble, in some roomy 
barn, possessing a smooth and hard floor of closely- 
pounded clay, to receive instructions in the saltatory 
art. Sometimes, when the teacher was ambitious, 
he would flourishingly open the proceedings with 
what was called "a bit of a noration," — the oratory 
principally consisting of sesquipedalian words and 



294 BITS OF BLAliX EY. 

mythological allusions, being composed by the 
schoolmaster — utterly unintelligible, but sounding 
largely, and delivered in an ore rotundo manner and 
with "a laudable voice," as if the dancing-master 
really understood the words he uttered. Not talcing 
particular pains to follow "copy," and frequently put- 
ting in words of his own when those written down 
for hi in had slipped out of his memory, these ora- 
tions were amusingly absurd. They invariably 
commenced with an allusion to Miriam dancing be- 
fore Moses, after the passage of the Eed Sea, (on 
which occasion, no doubt, was first heard "the piper 
who played before Moses," familiarly named in 
Irish colloquy,) and, passing down, through Homer 
and the classics, always ended with a warm eulogy 
on the antiquity of the dance. 

In those days, the favourite exhibitions were the 
jig, the reel, the hornpipe, and the country-dance. 
The last-named was considered dreadfully genteel — 
too aristocratic, in fact, for the multitude — and was 
learned and practiced (as courting and kissing often 
are) on the sly! The reel was countenanced — and 
no more. It was rather Scotch than Irish. Every 
one was expected to be able to go that laborious 
piece of amusement called "The Sailor's Hornpipe," 
— faint vestiges of which are extant, to this hour, 
in nautical scenes, — as represented on the stage. 
Words cannot describe the evolutions of this re- 
markable dance, when exhibited with all the scien- 



IRISH DANCING MASTERS. 295 

tine varieties of which it was capable. The shuffles, 
cross-shuffles, jumps, hops, leaps, cuttings, slides, 
and so on, which were introduced, I am unable to 
describe. The manner in which " heel-and-toe " was 
employed and varied, some abler historian may re- 
cord. 

That the hours passed away on swift pinions at 
these dancing academies, may well be imagined. 
There was any quantity of flirtation at all times, 
and about half the marriages in the country owed 
their origin to these reunions. It is creditable to 
the proverbial good conduct of my countrywomen, 
that loss of character rarely, if ever, resulted from 
these free-and-easy meetings. 

The real glory of the evening, however, was when 
the dancing- master, after a world of solicitation, 
would "take the flure," in order to give his admir- 
ing pupils a. touch of his quality. On such an occa- 
sion, the door of the house would be lifted off its 
hinges, and placed in the centre of the floor. Aban- 
doning the little kit (a small-sized violin) which was 
his companion at all other exhibitions, he would 
allow a blind piper to "discourse most excellent 
music," and, on the door, would commence that 
wondrous display of agility, known, in my time, as 
" cover the buckle ;" — a name probably derived 
from the circumstance that the dancing-master, while 
teaching, always wore large buckles in his shoes, and 
by the rapidity of motion with which he would 



296 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

make his "many twinkling feet" perpetually eross, 
would seem to "cover" the appendages in question. 
The great effort was to exhibit all varieties of steps 
and dances, without once quitting the prostrate door 
on which the exhibitor took his stand. The jumps, 
the "cuttings'' in the air, the bends, the dives, the 
wrigglings, the hops — these were all critically re- 
garded by his audience, and sometimes rewarded 
with such exclamations as "That's the way," — "now 
for a double cut," — " cover-the-buckle, ye divel," — 
" Oh, then, 'tis he that handles his feet nately." 
At the conclusion, when he literally had danced 
himself almost off his legs, he would bow to the 
company, and — if he were very much a favourite, or 
had eclipsed all former displays — one of the pret- 
tiest girls in the room would go round, plate in 
in hand, and make a collection for him. How the 
ten-penny and five-penny bits would tumble in, on 
those occasions — particularly if the fair collector 
could be induced to announce, with a blush and a 
smile, that she would take an extra donation on the 
usual terms, which meant that, for five shillings into 
the plate, any gallant swain might brush the dew 
from her own coral lips, on that occasion only and 
by particular desire. Can you doubt, for a moment, 
that the likely "boy" who had bee a sitting by her 
side all the evening, making babies on her eyes (as 
the saying is), and with his arm round her waist, just 
to steady her in her seat, would jump up and fling 



IRISH DANCING MASTERS. 297 

his crown-piece into the treasury — though the pecu- 
niary sacrifice would probably involve his being 
obliged to dispense, for a few weeks more, with u the 
new Carline hat" on which his dandyism had set its 
mind, for his Sunday adorning! 

It was difficult foi "an outsider 1 ' to become a 
spectator of the peculiar modes of teaching adopted 
and practiced by these masters. At a small extra 
rate, they would undertake to give instructions in 
that " deportment, 1 ' of which the late Mr. Turvey- 
drop was such an illustrious exemplar. I never 
witnessed anything of this sort, but have conversed 
on the subject with some who did. From what I 
could learn, the whole course of tuition in this par- 
ticular branch must have been ludicrous in the ex- 
treme. Besides lessons in standing, walking, sitting, 
and evtm leaning with grace and ease, more recon- 
dite points were considered. Such were "how to 
slide out of a room backwards" (on the chance, no 
doubt, of some of the rustics having to appear at 
Court, before Eoyalty)— " how to accept a tumbler 
of punch from a gentleman," touching the liquid 
with her lips, so as to leave a kiss within the cup, 
as Ben Jonson advises, — "how to refuse a kiss," 
and yet not destroy the hope of its being accepted, 
a little later in the evening, — and, above all, "how 
to take a kiss," in the most genteel and approved 
manner of politeness ! These instructions, super- 
added to a lesson that was called " the Grecian 
13* 



298 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

bend" (which was nothing less than a coquettish 
way of leaning forward, with the eyes cast down, 
while listening to soft nonsense from a favoured 
swain), were peculiar and private. The only way 
in which the male sex could obtain a glimpse at 
such Eleusinian mysteries was by taking a recum- 
bent position on the roof of the house, carefully re- 
moving a small portion of the thatch, and using eyes 
and ears in that situation to the best advantage. 
If detected by the irate maidens, the spy would run 
a fair chance of a scratched face and well-boxed 
ears. 

As might be expected, the country dancing-master 
sometimes had stupid and refractory pupils. There 
was a common method of giving them instruction, 
which, for its practical simplicity, may be worth re- 
lating. When the pupil would persist in not recol- 
lecting which foot was to be used, at particular 
periods, the dancing-master would take a rope made 
of twisted hay, called a suggaun, and fasten it around 
one of the delinquent's ankles. He would then take 
a similar bracelet of twisted willow, denominated a 
gad, and put this on the other. Then, instead 
of directing the pupil to the particular use or motion 
of the right leg or the left, he would exclaim, " Kise 
upon suggaun" or "Sink upon gad" and in this 
manner convey his instructions beyond a possibility 
of mistake by even the most stupid ! 

Of course, where there was large company r- r 



IRISH DANCING MASTERS. 299 

young people, full of life and spirit, under pupilage 
to a not young instructor, a variety of practical 
jokes would be perpetrated, at his expense, every 
now and then. They were almost invariably of a 
good-natured kind. One, which might be consid- 
ered as to u be repeated every night until farther 
notice," generally came off towards the end of the 
evening. A joyous, light-hearted damsel would 
suddenly start up, while the music was playing, and, 
placing herself before the dancing-master, with that 
particular description of curtsy called " a bob," 
silently challenge him to dance with her. Now, 
under all circumstances, except actual inability to 
move, the gentleman so challenged has nothing to 
do but pick up the gauntlet, and " take the flure." 
Then, challenger and challenged would commence 
an Irish jig — a dance so violent that, writing in the 
dog-days as I do, the very recollection of it makes 
me feel as if the barometer was some two hundred 
in the shade. When the damsel had pretty well 
tired herself, one of her fair friends would take her 
place, and so on until a round dozen or so had had 
their turn. All this time, the doomed victim of a 
man had to continue dancing — and the point of 
honour was to do so, without giving in, as long as 
strength and wind lasted. The company would 
gather round, forming a ring for the performers, and 
the word would be, " On with the dance " (as it was, 
at Brussels, on the eve of Waterloo), until, at last, 



300 JUTS OF BLAKXKV. 

some male spectator would pityingly clash into the 
circle, take the tired man's place, and permit the 
breathless and exhausted victim to totter to a seat, 
gasping out a protest, as he did, that he could have 
held out for half an hour longer, and wondered why 
any gentleman should interfere with another gentle- 
man's divarshun. 

In the preceding story of " The Petrified Piper," 
mention is made of a dancing-master commonly 
known as " Ould Lynch." He was an original, in 
many respects, and, like many of his profession, 
was in a constant nutter of faded finery and actual 
poverty. He was so much a character that my 
father took rather a fancy to him, and had him often 
at the house, as a teacher of dancing, in the well 
populated ;town of Fermoy. He had small chance of 
earning what would keep life and soul together. 
But he was a quiet, unassuming man, better edu- 
cated than most of his class, and full of anecdote. 
One social virtue he eminently possessed : — he was 
one of the best backgammon players I ever saw, 
and (I speak it modestly,) was very fond of me as 
a pupil. 

Lynch was a County Limerick man, on the con- 
fines of "the Kingdom of Kerry," and informed 
me that, in the parish where he was brought up, 
the natives had a passion for backgammon, and 
were wont, on high-days and holidays, to hold tour- 
naments (on their favourite game) with the inhab- 



IRISH DANU1NG MASTERS. SOI 

itants of the next parish, in Kerry. Unfortunately 
one day when a great trial of skill was appointed 
to come off, it turned out that no backgammon 
box was forthcoming. Both parties had contrived 
to forget it. To send for the necessary implements 
would have been a waste of time, when the com- 
batants had " their sjuIs in arms," and were "eager 
for the fray." In this dilemma, a lad who had a 
decided genius for expedients suggested a plan by 
which, without delay, their mutual wishes could be 
realized. Under his advice, one of the meadows 
was fixed upon as the scene of action. The turf 
was removed at intervals, so as to make the place 
present the semblance of a backgammon board, 
and substitutes for men were readily found in the 
flat stones and slates with which the ground 
abounded. The great difficulty was — the dice! 
They could extemporize board and men, but how 
to raise the bits of ivory ? The lad was not to be 
baffled. He proposed that two men, one selected 
from each party, should sit on the ditch opposite 
each other, with "the board in the centre, with 
their respective backs turned from the combatants, 
and, in turn, should call out the numbers, as if 
they had been actually thrown by dice ! This bril- 
liant idea was acted upon. A halfpenny was thrown 
up to decide who should have first play, and the 
men on the ditch alternately called out, at will, any 



302 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

of the throws which might have been actually cast 
had the dice themselves been " to the fore." 

Such primitive practice, I venture to say, had 
never before been applied to the noble science of 
backgammon. I use the word advisedly, because, 
with skill and judgment, what is called bad luck- 
does not very materially affect the game. The art 
is to conquer, despite bad throwing. 

Lynch succeeded a worthy named Hearne — a nom 
de guerre, his enemies averred, for the less euphoni- 
ous one of Herring. Whatever his name, the man 
was quite a character. He fancied himself a poet, 
and was particularly fond of taking his favourite 
pupils aside to communicate to them in a confiden- 
tial manner, sotto voce, the latest productions of his 
muse, — it being expected that, a little later in the 
evening, the favoured individuals should delicately 
draw him out and solicit him to a public recital of 
his verses. After a good deal of pressing on their 
part, and a show of resistance on his, (which every 
one understood,) the little dancing-master would 
mount on a table, deliver a flourishing preface in 
prose, and then go through the recitation, in a man- 
ner which set description at defiance. At the con- 
clusion of this feat, which was duly encored, Hearne 
was wont to distribute copies of his composition 
printed on whity-brown paper, and the tribute of 
a nve-per:iy bit was expected in acknowledgment 



IRISH DANCING MASTERS. 303 

of the same — simply, as he said, " to pay for the 
printing." He had such a peculiar system of orthog- 
raphy — spelling the words by the sound — that I 
venture, with all due diffidence, to put forward his 
claim to take precedence of the interesting and wor- 
thy founders of the newspaper-nondescript, The 
Fonetic Nuz, at which the Londoners laughed heart- 
ily a dozen years ago. By some accident, I have 
preserved a copy of one of Hearne's poetical com- 
positions, in which his own mode of spelling is care- 
fully preserved, and I subjoin it as a curiosity, — a 
specimen of what emanated, some thirty years ago, 
from one who belonged to the peculiar class (of 
which Grant Thorburn is the head) worthy of being 
called The Illiterate Literati ! 



" A few lions addressed in prease of Mr. Jon Anderson, Esquire, 
by his humble servant, and votary of the Muses, Wm. Ahearne, 
profesor of dancing. 

i{ Who lives in this Eaden wich lyes to the easte 
Of Fermoy ould bridge and its pallasades ; 
He is the best man on the Blackwater's breast, 
As thonsans from povirty he has razed. 

" There's no grand Pear in all Urop this day, 

With him can compare most certinly, 
In bilding a town of buty and sweay 
As Fermoy and its gay sweet liberty. 



304: BITS OF BLARNEY. 






" Now, weagh well the case betwin him and those 
Who travel the globe and fair Itly, 
After skroozhing their tinnants hard when at home, 
And spindiug their store most foulishly." 



The most original idea in these "few lions," is the 
geographical information that Italy is not a part of 
the globe. In the .pen-ultimate line, the poet may- 
have hinted a little sly satire at the "at home" in 
high life, where the crushing of hundreds into a 
space where tens can scarcely sit in comfort is es- 
teemed a great feat. 

A wealthy attorney, named Henley, Avho had been 
kind to Hearne, was the object of an eulogistic 
"pome." It ran somewhat thus : 



There is a barrister of great fame 

In Fermoy, I do declare, 
Who administers strict justas 

Without bribery or dessate. 
May God prolong your days, 

Your Court to reglate, 
And force sly roges and villiues 

To pay their dews and rates. 



CHARLEY CBOFTS. 

In. the immortal "Maxims of O'Doherty," writ- 
ten by the late Dr. Maginn, mention is made of a 
dinner at the late Lord Doneraile's, in the Sonth of 
Ireland, in which a reproof was administered to his 
Lordship's meanness in the article of — tippling. lie 
says, " My friend, Charley Crofts, was also of* the 
party. The claret went lazily ronnd the table, and 
his Lordship's toad-eaters hinted that they preferred 
pnnch, and called for hot water. My Lord gave in, 
after a hnmbug show of resistance, and whiskey- 
punch was in a few minutes the order of the night. 
Charley, however, to the annoyance of the host, 
kept swilling away at the claret, on which Lord 
Doneraile lost all patience, and said to him, 'Charley, 
you are missing quite a treat ; this punch is so ex- 
cellent.' ' Thank ye, my Lord,' said Charley, ' I am 
a plain man, who does not want trates ; I am no 
epicure, so I stick to the claret.' " 

This free-and-easy gentleman, of whom I have 
some personal recollection, belonged to a class of 
which, I suspect, he was the very latest specimen. 
Charley Crofts, who had acquired no book-learning, 
because he was born to a large landed property, was 

(305) 



30(5 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

of a respectable family in the west of the county 
Cork, and, oven in his decline, was highly honoured 
by the multitude, as coming from "the good ould 
stock." Brought up, but not educated, by his 
mother, Charley entered the world with very flat- 
tering prospects. He had a good property, good 
lo >ks, good temper, and (what he most prized) good 
horses. Cursed with an easy disposition, he had 
never learned how to utter the monosyllable "JS T o," but 
had unfortunately learned how to sign his name — 
his f i*iends kindly giving him very frequent oppor- 
tunities of practicing that autograph, by obtaining it, 
across narrow slips of stamped paper, ('yclept " bills" 
and " promissory notes ") underneath the words " Ac- 
cepted, 'payable at the Bank of James Delacour, Mallow" 
In the long run, these autographs ruined him — as, 
bit-by -bit, all his property went to meet the sums to 
which they pledged him, and Charley Crofts found 
himself, at the age of thirty, without home or money. 
He had preserved one thing, however — his personal 
character. He had committed a great many of the 
frailties of his sex and youth, but the shadow of a 
disreputable or doubtful action never rested on 
his name. He could proudly say, like Francis the 
First, after the battle of Pavia, "All lost, except 
honour." 

The result was that, in his poverty, he was as 
highly thought of as in his affluence, and was ever 
a welcome guest in the first houses of his native 
county. 



CHARLEY CROFTS. 307 

Like the rest of his elass, (I mean the estated Iris] 

gentlemen of the last century,) Charley Crofts had 
learned to drink deeply. He used to narrate, with 
great glee, an incident connected with his entrance 
into vivacious habits. His mother, having occasion 
to leave their country residence, in order to transact 
some business in Cork, left her hopeful son in full 
possession of the house and full command of the 
servants, for the fortnight she intended being absent. 
Charley, who was then in his sixteenth year, de- 
termined that he would hold no powerless sceptre of 
vice-royalty, and invited sundry acquaintances to 
visit him, which they did. As a hogshead of fine 
claret was always on tap, there was no difficulty in 
obtaining an adequate supply of drink. One day, 
however, a guest happened to express a desire to 
vary the post-prandial proceedings by the introduc- 
tion of a few bottles of port. Now, it happened 
that Mrs. Crofts possessed (and was known to pos- 
sess) some remarkably fine port wine, which she 
carefully kept locked up, reserving it for "State 
days and holidays." Charley had been left the key 
of the cellar, and, considering that his hospitality 
was especially appealed to, by the hint about the 
port, went down and had a supply brought up. 
Thrt afternoon's performance went rather hard 
against the port. Indeed, so much of it was drank 
that Charley Crofts was puzzled how to account for 
it, without making full confession. A few days 



308 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

after his mother's return, she asked him to accom- 
pany her to the cellar, to provide a suitable location 
for a supply of sherry which she expected from 
Cork. The first thing which attracted her notice 
was the remarkable diminution in the stock of hei 
valued and nearly unique port wine. Catching hei 
eve, Charley anticipated her inquiry, by remarking 
that, in her absence, a remarkable thunder-storrr 
had penetrated to the cellar and broken a quantity 
of the bottled wine. Taking up two or three of the 
bottles, and full}' aware that it would be useless to 
repine or get angry over the mischief done, she drew 
her hopeful son's attention to them, and only said, 
"A dreadful storm, indeed! It has actually drawn 
the corks out of the necks of the bottles, instead of 
bursting them in the usual way !" 

For the last five-and-thirty years of his life, Char- 
lev Crofts may be said to have literally lived all 
around. He had a number of tried friends, who 
were glad to have him as their guest and boon com- 
panion, for a month at a time. He could tell a good 
story, knew the private history of every family in 
the county, was undoubted authority on horse- 
flesh and every subject connected with the sports of 
the field, and could take any quantity of wine with- 
out its apparently affecting him. Nature had en- 
dowed him with great muscular power, immense 
physical strength, a temper which nothing could 
cloud, and a mode of expression so terse as some- 



CHARLEY CROFTS. 309 

times to be almost epigrammatic. lie was exactly 
qualified for the shifting sort of life upon which he 
had fallen. 

When I met him, the brighter portion of his ca- 
reer had passed. He was but the wreck of what he 
once had been, I was assured by every one ; but 
one may judge, from the ruin, what the structure 
had been in its pride. Numerous anecdotes were 
afloat as to his sayings and doings, but it is difficult 
to realize their effect in our days, unless you could 
imagine the person on whom they were affiliated. 
Though I fear that I shall fail in the attempt, I shall 
endeavour to record two or three. 

As a four-bottle man, who could drink every one 
else under the table, Charley Crofts was not so 
much of a favourite with wives as with their hus- 
bands. They knew, by experience, that with Char- 
ley Crofts in the van, a wet evening might be looked 
for — in the dining-room. 

Mr. Wrixon, of Ballygiblin, near Mallow, (father 
of Sir W. Wrixon-Bacher, who married Miss 
O'Neill, the eminent actress,) had only a small 
hereditary property when he succeeded to vast 
estates, on condition that he superadded the name 
of "Becher" to his own patronymic. As plain 
Mr. Wrixon, with a small property, he had lived 
unnoticed, but his circle of friends immensely in- 
creased when he became Mr. Wrixon-Becher, and 
a man of " Ten Thousand a Year." Soon after, he 



3lO BITS OF BLARNEY. 

married an English lady, with, some fortune, much 
pride, a fair share of beauty, and a decided abhor- 
rence of the drinking habits of her husband's friends. 
She had heard of, and had been cautioned against, 
the vivacious enormities of Charley Crofts, and had 
actually declared to her husband (in private, of 
course) that whenever Mi Crofts took a seat at 
her table, she would immediately relinquish hers. 

One day, when Wrixon had been out with the 
Duhallow hounds, and the run had been quick and 
long, the only man who was in with him " at the 
death," was Charley Crofts, and under the circum- 
stances — the rain beginning to fall heavily, Crofts' 
place of sojourn being at least ten miles distant, and 
Ballygiblin at hand, — Wrixon felt that he must 
invite Charley home, or rest under the imputation 
of behaving in an unsportsmanlike and inhospita- 
ble manner. 

So, he told Charley that half a dozen other good 
fellows were to take "pot-luck" with him that day, 
and that he must insist on Charley's joining them. 
Without any pressing or denial, the invitation was 
accepted. 

Now, Charley Crofts knew, just as well as if he 
had been present when the affair was discussed, how 
and why it was that, of all the houses in the barony 
of Duhallow, the mansion of Ballygiblin was the 
only one to which he had not a general invitation. 
Wrixon, the moment he reached home, turning over 



CHARLEY CROFTS. 311 

his companion to the friendly custody of a mutual 
acquaintance, who was to form one of the party that 
day, hastened to " his lady's chamber," where he 
found his wife dressed for dinner, and (as her glass 
told her) looking remarkably well. A few well- 
expressed and well-timed compliments on her ap- 
pearance, a congratulation or two on her exquisite 
taste in dress ; a half-hint and half-promise as to the 
killing effect of a set of pearl in contrast with her 
ebon looks, and more "blarney" of the same sort, 
made the lady so very gracious that the husband 
ventured to communicate under what circumstances 
he had been compelled to invite Charley Crofts to 
her table. The lady took them, as they sometimes. 
do in French courts of justice, as "extenuating cir- 
cumstances," and consented to receive the dreaded 
Charley. This done, she found her way into the 
drawing-room, where the guests waited upon her — 
the most subdued and quiet of them being Charley 
Crofts. At first, with his grave air and grave attire, 
she thought that he might have been a clergyman. 

As the only stranger in the party, Charley had to 
escort Mrs. Wrixon to the dining-room, to sit next 
her, to perform the duties of carving for her, to sup- 
ply her with a little of the small change of conversa- 
tion. Nobody could behave more decorously, more 
unlike the lady's fearful anticipations of the dreaded 
guest. Now and then, when addressed by his 
friends, a quaint remark or a satiric witticism would 



312 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

make her smile, and convince her that the danger- 
ously seductive companionable character of her guest 
had not been undeservedly obtained. On the whole, 
she had every reason to think him very much of a 
gentleman, and graciously smiled on him when she 
quitted the table. 

"You have conquered her, by Jove," exclaimed 
Wrixon. "Not yet," said Charley, "but in a fair 
way for it." The wine went round. The conver- 
sation branched off into its usual channels, and set- 
tled, at last, upon a meet of the hounds which was 
to take place on Mr. Wrixon's property, at which 
all the company present would attend. 

In the middle of the discussion, one of the foot- 
men duly announced that his lady was waiting for 
them, with tea and coffee, in the drawing-room. 
Heretofore, in that house, such an announcement 
had always been a mere matter of form. Not so 
now. Charley Crofts started up and proceeded to 
obey the summons. " Nonsense !" they all exclaim- 
ed. " Don't turn milksop. No one ever goes to tea 
or coffee in this house." " Say what you may," said 
Charley, " the lady shall not have to complain of my 
want of politeness." 

In the drawing-room, sooth to say, no gentleman 
had been expected, and Mrs. Wrixon was taking a 
solitary cup of tea. She was an admirable musi- 
cian, and was playing " Gramachree " (that saddest 
of all Irish airs) just as Charley reached the door. 



CHARLKY CROFTS. 313 

Now, music was among the things which he thor- 
oughly uubrstoo I and appreciated, and the mo- 
ment that he heard her exquisite execution on the 
harp he paused, spell-bound, listening with rapt at- 
tention and delight, while the pathos of the air drew 
tears from eyes all unaccustomed to the melting 
mood. When she had concluded, she turned round, 
saw the effect which she had produced, and (need I 
say it) was flattered at that proof of her skill. 

Quickly recovering himself, Charley Crofts in- 
formed her that he had the pleasure of accepting the 
invitation she had sent into the dining-room. Tea 
was accordingly provided, and the conversation nat- 
urally fell upon music. Charley happened to be a 
first rate flutist, and having mentioned in what a de- 
lightful manner the flute and harp went together, 
either to accompany the voice or without, Mrs. 
Wrixon sent for her husband's flute, and allowed 
him to show her how correctly he had spoken. 
Presently, she even sang to the double accompani- 
ment, and her husband and his friends,' curious to 
know how Crofts was getting on, having now ad- 
journed from their wine, found him thus engaged. 

Meanwhile, in intervals of from three to five min- 
utes, Charley Crofts had gulphed down successive, 
and almost countless, cups of tea. Again and again 
had the tea-pot been replenished — and emptied. At 
last, quite tired out, Mrs. Wrixon said, half in sport, 
half in earnest, "I am sure, Mr. Crofts, that I never 
14 



314 BITS OF RLAIitfEY. ' 

gave you credit for being such a determined tea- 
drinker. As my hand is rather tired, may I beg 
that you will help yourself ?" 

"Madam," said Charley, with imposing gravity, 
"I am a plain man. I do not prefer tea to ether 
liquids. You were so good as to seird for us to tea. 
I always obey a lady's summons when I can, and 
came hither. I am accustomed, for years past, to 
take a certain quantity of fluid after dinner. I care 
not what that fluid may be, so that I have my quan- 
tum. Ale, punch, wine, or, as now, even this tea. 
I can help myself to the other liquids, but tea has 
no flavor unless it be poured out bv a lady's fair 
hand !" 

Mrs. Wrixon, perceiving that she was fairly 
caught, exclaimed, " Well, Mr. Crofts, I think that 
I must leave you to take what you please in the 
dining-room, but whenever you want a little music 
you can have it here, and 1 only hope my husband 
will treat you so well that you will frequently give 
me the pleasure of seeing you under this roof." 

This was the manner in which Charley Crofts con- 
quered Madam Wrixon, the proud, high-bred lady. 
Good friends they continued unto her dying day, 
and Charley would rather hear her play the harp, 
as she only could play it, (he fancied,) than assist at 
the broaching of the finest pipe of claret that ever 
was smuggled over from Bordeaux. 

Air. Wrixon, albeit a man »f unbounded generos- 



CHARLEY CKUFTS. 3 15 

ity, had one leetU drawback. He would give sump- 
tuous entertainments; he paid the chief e*.pe 
of the Duhallow Hunt ; he indulged his wile in all 
luxuries of attire and adornment; he had a passion 

for beautiful horses and costly equipages ; he was 
liberal in his charities; he acted as banker for many 
of his poorer friends who were of the lackland 
genus ; he seemed to fling money away, though, 
indeed, he was by no means a spendthrift ; but the 
one little "blot" in his tables (I mean, in his char- 
acter) was a feverish anxiety to economize on such 
mere trifles as cream and butter/ 

So it was, however. His friends were at once 
amused and rendered uncomfortable by it. It inter- 
fered with the perfection of their tea and coffee, and 
always prevented their taking- a desired quantity of 
bread-and-butter. To allude to this matter, to show 
the slightest consciousness of Mr. "Wrixon's peculiar 
idiosyncrasy, in this respect, was what his friends 
never ventured upon. They were not the less anx- 
ious to have it removed. 

They determined that Charley Crofts should be 
the amputator. The next day, at a very early 
breakfast, preparatory to their taking the field with 
the fox-hounds, a lively party assembled at Mr. 
Wrixon's table, in unexceptionable red coats, envi- 
able buckskins, irreproachable top-boots, and the 
ordinary skull-caps covered with black velvet, which, 
from time immemorial, formed the costume of the 



SW BITS OF BLARNEY. 

members of the Duhallow Hunt; "the most sport- 
ingest set of gentlemen," I once heard a peasant say 
M that mortial eyes did ever look upon." 

The breakfast included all that should constitute the 
matutinal meal of a party of keen sportsmen about 
to cross the country at break -neck speed — all, except 
cream and butter, of which, as usual, there was a 
minimum supply, very much short of what might 
be expected from a dairy of over twenty milch cows. 
Charley Crofts, as this was his first visit, might be 
supposed to be in ignorance of his host's feelings 
upon that point. At all events, he acted as if he 
were. 

The cream and butter were placed close by Mr. 
Wrixon — the supply for a party of nine or ten con- 
sisting of a very small ewer-full of the former, and 
two or three pats of the latter, each about the size 
of a penny -piece. As if it were a matter of course, 
Charley, having put the needful quantities of tea 
into his cup, filled it up with the entire contents of 
the cream-ewer, and, at the same time, put all the 
butter upon his plate. Mr. Wrixon, startled by 
such invasion of his favourites, feebly desired one of 
the servants to bring " a little more cream and a 
little more butter." 

By the time the fresh supply was on the table, 
Charley Crofts had emptied his cup and eaten 
his toast. He lost no time in appropriating the 
prized articles, as before, chatting away with his 



CHARLEY CROFTS. 317 

usual nonchalance, as if he had done nothing un- 
common. Mr. Wrixon, sitting like one astonied, 

watched the disappearance of the second supply, 
and ordered a third replenishment, which went the 
way of the preceding. Rising in his chair, he ad- 
dressed the butler and exclaimed, "John, desire that 
all the cream and butter in the dairy be brought up, 
I think we shall have need of the whole of it." 
Turning to Crofts, he emphatically said, "I have 
heard of eating bread-and-butter, but Charley, you 
'eat butter and bread. 11 By this time the laugh which 
arose gave him the pleasant information that he was 
sold, From that hour he was as liberal with his cream 
and butter, as he previously had been with every 
other article in his mansion. lie never was able to 
ascertain whether Charley Crofts had been put up 
to the trick, or had simply hit the nail by accident. 
Charley Crofts did not confine his visits to the 
gentry in his native county of Cork. In the decline 
of his fortunes — indeed, as long as he was able to do 
anything — he always was possessor of a gem or two 
in the way of horseflesh. For many years, his in- 
come Avas almost wholly derived from the sale of 
horses, out of which he obtained a large profit, and 
it was known that any animal which he sold or 
vouched for might be depended on. In the way of 
business, having disposed of a fine hunter to one of 
the family, who was sportingly inclined, he had to 
pass a fe w days at th s house of Mr. Lyons, of Croom, 



61b BITS OK BLARNEY. 

in tlic county of Limerick. This old man Lad ac- 
quired a vast fortune by following the business of a 
grazier, and had invested large sums in the pur- 
chase of landed estates. His sons, determined to 
cut a figure in the county, indulged in all manner 
of excess and extravagance. At the time of Charley 
Crofts' visit, they issued cards for a splendid dejeuner 
d la fourchette, to which the leading people of the 
district were invited. As Charley Crofts was on 
intimate terms with everybody who had pretensions 
to notice, the Lyons family, in solemn conclave as- 
sembled, determined that it would be a sagacious 
and politic move to got him to officiate as a some- 
thing between Major Domo and Master of the Cere- 
monies at the intended festival. Desiring no better 

o 

fun, he cheerfully consented. 

The attendance on the gala day was what the 
• newspapers would describe as " full and fashionable." 
Many went from curiosity, to see in what manner 
the parvenu would attempt "to ape his betters" — ■ 
i. e., themselves. Several attended, because they 
owed money to old Lyons (who did a little in bills 
after abandoning beef) ) and did not like to affront 
him by not accepting his invitation. A good many 
went, because they had heard that "all the world 
and his wife" would be present, and a jovial day 
might be anticipated. 

Thanks to Charley Crofts' surveillance, the enter- 
tainment, well got up, went off admirably. 



CHARLEY CROFTS. 310 

Among the more aristocratic guests was the Lady 
Isabella Fitzgibbon, sister to that Earl of Clare who 
was the schoolfellow and friend most tenderly and' 
lastingly loved by Byron. At that time she was a 
fine young woman. She is now a stern old maid — 
like the odd half of a pair f seissors, of no us 
herself or any body else. Lady Isabella affected to 
look down, with some degree of superciliousness, 
upon the millionaire's hospitality. Having probably 
laid in a good supply of mutton chops or beef steaks 
before she went out, she pointedly neglected the 
delicacies of the season, wdiich were abundantly 
supplied, and merely trifled with a lobster-salad. 
Old Lyons, who ha 1 a gr?at respect for good feed- 
ing, and particularly for substantial, turned round 
to her, as she sat by his sicb, tlu image of aristocrat 
ical don't-eare-a-pin-for-all-the- world-ativeness, and 
kindly said, "Ah, then, my lady, why don't you 
take some of the good beef and mutton, the capons 
and the turkeys, and don't be after filling your 
stomach with that cowld cabbage !" 

TI13 hi jdi-born daraa nearly fainted at what she 

o 

considered the vulgar good-nature of her host. Soon 
afcer, when she had recovered from the shock, she said 
that z>he thought she would have a little bread and 
butter. Immediately opposite her, and w r ithin reach 
of Old Lyons, was a crystal bowl in which floated 
sundry little pats of that delicious butter for which 
the county Limerick is famed. Lyons made several 



320 BITS OF BLARNEY". 

vain efforts to spear one of these with a fork, at 
last, finding that it was impossible to make the 
capture in that manner, he "raised up his coat-sleeve, 
tucked up the wrist-band of his shirt, and plung- 
ing his hand into the bowl, with the exclamation, 
' Ha, you little jumping Jennies, I am determined 
to have you now," secured two pieces of the butter, 
which he triumphantly deposited on his noble guest's 
plate, with the words, "There, my ladj T , when I 
took the matter in hand, I knew I must succeed." 

Charley Crofts departed this life some twenty 
years ago. The close of his career was passed in 
Cove, where he lived upon an annuity provided by 
the liberality of some of his former friends. His 
health had failed him, suddenly, a few years before, 
and he who had been wont "to set the table in a 
roar," for nearly forty years, subsided into a quer- 
ulous valetudinarian. He published his Autobiog- 
raphy, shortly before his death, and it deserves 
mention as one of the dullest of its class, as far as I 
recollect, (it is a long time since I yawned over it,) 
the subject matter chiefly consisted of fierce person- 
alities directed against sundry relatives who, he 
said, had cheated him out of his property. 

To the very last, Charley Crofts could give 
graphic narratives of his former career and com- 
panions, but the moment he attempted to write them 
down, their spirit wholly evaporated. 



]RISH PUBLICIST 



HENRY GRATTAN. 

The history of Ireland's independence, from the 
rise of trie Volunteers until the treacherous sacrifice 
of nationality by the passing of the Act of Union — 
an interval of twenty years, yet crowded with events 
and eminent characters — can best be read in the 
lives of the illustrious men who asserted, vindicated, 
and carried that independence. Looking back at 
the brief but brilliant period in which they shone, 
truly did Curran speak of them, to Lord Avonmore, 
as men u over whose ashes the most precious tears 
of Ireland have been shed." 

Among this noble and gallant array of public 
virtue and genius Henry Grattan stands con- 
spicuous and pre-eminent. To condense a memoir 
of him into the space which I have here reserved 
would be a vain attempt. Let me sketch him in 
his youth. The child, Wordsworth said, is father 
of the man, and this was particularly true as regards 
Grattan. 

Henry Grattan, stated by most of his biographers 
to have been born in 1750 (the year in which Cui- 
ran entered into earthly existence), was four years 
older, his baptismal agister in Dublin bearing date 
ths 3d of July, 1746. His father, a man of character 

(823) 



324 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

and ability, was Recorder of Dublin for many years, 
and one of the metropolitan parliamentary repre- 
sentatives from 1761 to his death in 1766. The 
well-known patriot, Dr. Lucas, was senatorial col- 
league and opponent of the elder Grattan, who, al- 
though nominally a Whig, was actually a Tory, — 
was the law officer of the Corporation, which 
Lucas undauntedly opposed, — and on all essen- 
tial, political, and legislative points, sided with the 
Government of the day. 

The Grattan family were of considerable and re- 
spectable standing in Ireland, and Henry Grattan's 
grandfather and grand-uncles had enjoyed familiar 
intimacy with Dean Swift and Dr. Sheridan. Hen- 
ry Grattan's mother was a daughter of Thomas 
Marlay, Chief Justice of Ireland, who almost as 
a matter of course in those days, was to be found 
on the side of the Government, but administered 
justice fairly, and on some few occasions showed a 
love for and pride in his native Ireland. Grattan's 
mother was a clearheaded, well-informed woman. 
On both sides, therefore, he had a claim to hereditary 
talent. 

At ordinary day-schools, in Dublin, Henry Grat- 
tan received his education. John Fitzgibbon, after- 
wards the unscrupulous tool of the Government and 
the scourge of Ireland (as Lord Chancellor Clare), 
was his class-mate at one of these seminaries. Grat- 
tan rapidly acquired the necessary amount of Greek 



1IKXKY GRATTAN. 325 

and Latin, and in 1763, being then 17 years old, 
entered Trinity College. Here, among Lis friends 
and competitors, were Foster (afterwards Speaker 
of the Ilouse of Commons), Robert Day, who sub- 
sequently adorned the Bench. In the University 
there was particular rivalry between Fitzgibbon and 
G rattan; the first was well grounded in elassics and 
science, but almost wholly ignorant of modern liter- 
ature. Both obtained the highest prizes in the 
University, — Grattan getting premium, certificate, 
or medal at every examination. 

Before he had completed his twentieth year, Grat- 
tan had declared his political opinions. They were 
patriotic — they were Irish — they were opposed to 
the principles and practice of his father, and strongly 
identical with those of Dr. Lucas, his father's con- 
stant and bitter opponent. Lucas was a remarkable 
man. He it was who, immediately after the acces- 
sion of George III., introduced a bill for limiting the 
duration of the Irish Parliament to seven years — 
the custom being, at the time, that a new Parliament 
should be chosen when a new monarch ascended 
the throne, and last during his lifetime. It took 
seven years' perseverance to effect this change — 
upon which the English Cabinet thrice put a veto. 
A fourth and final effort succeeded, the limitation 
being eight years. It was Lucas who, following 
in the steps of Swift, boldly attacked bad men 
and bad measures in the newspapers, and thus as- 



326 BITS OF BLAlUtfEY. 

sorted the Liberty of the Press — that which Cur- 
ran so earnestly desired to be preserved when, ad- 
dressing bis countrymen, he said, " Guard it, T be- 
seech )uii, for when it sinks, there sink with it, in 
one common grave, the liberty of the subject and 
the security of the Crown." It was Lucas who 
strenuously denied the right of a British Parliament 
to govern Ireland, who asserted his country's right 
to legislative independence, who insisted on her 
slaim for self-government. For this, the law was 
strained against him, — for this, Dublin grand juries 
ordered his writings to be publicly burned hj the 
hands of the common hangman — for this, a venal 
House of Commons voted that he wrote sedition and 
was an enemy of his country — for this, the Speaker 
was ordered to issue a warrant for his arrest and 
imprisonment in gaol — for this, the Lord Lieutenant 
was solicited to denounce him by Proclamation — 
for this, the Corporation of Dublin disfranchised him 
— for this, he had to fly his country and secure life 
and comparative liberty by eleven years of enforced 
exile. On his return, in 1760, that very city of 
Dublin from which he had fled for his life elected 
him for one of its representatives, Grattan's father 
being his colleague. As such, the elder Grattan, 
who was a courtier, opposed the Septennial Bill. 

Henry Grattan, a patriot from his childhood, ar- 
dently adopted Dr. Lucas' views in favour of Ire- 
land's independence. The result was that, in 1765-6, 



HENRY GRATTAN. 327 

Henry Grattan was at variance with his father. The 
death of the elder Grattan took place in 1766, and 
it was then discovered how much he resented his 
son's assertion of liberal politics. He could not de- 
prive him of a small landed estate, secured to him 
by marriage settlement, but bequeathed from him 
the paternal residence of the family for nearly a 
century. Thus Henry Grattan had to enter the 
world, not rich in worldly wealth, and with his soul 
saddened by the marked and public posthumous 
condemnation by his father. No wonder that, as he 
declared in one of his letters at the time, he was 
" melancholy and contemplative, but not studious." 
No wonder that, solitary in the old home, he should 
sadly say, "I employ myself writing, reading, 
courting the muse, and taking leave of that place 
where I am a guest, not an owner, and of which I 
shall now cease to be a spectator." His household 
Gods were shattered on his hearth, and he sat, cold 
and lonely, among theirruins. Yet, even then, he 
dreamed that fortune, smiling upon him, would en- 
able his old age to resign his breath where he first 
received it. Never was that dream fulfilled. Not 
even did he die 

" 'Midst the trees which a nation had given, and which bowed, 
As if each brought a new civic crown for his head ;" 

but his spirit departed, fifty -four years later, in the 



828 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

metropolis of the haughty land which had crushed 
the independence and broken the nationality of 

" His own loved island of sorrow." 

At the age of twenty -one, Henry Grattan went to 
London to study the law. At that period, as at 
present, it is indispensable for every one who desires 
to be admitted to the Irish bar, that he shall have 
" studied " for two years at one of the Inns of Court 
in London. Perhaps this, as much as anything else, 
shows how completely the English habit has been, 
and is, to treat Ireland as a mere province. Candi- 
dates for admission to the Scottish bar are not re- 
quired to pursue this nominal course of study in 
another country. Nominal it is, for the requirement 
does not involve the acquisition, m the most infinites- 
imal degree, of any knowledge of the principles or 
practice of the law. All that is necessary is that the 
future barrister shall have eaten twenty-four dinners 
in the Hall of his London Inn of Court (three at 
each term) during two years, and a certificate of this 
knife-and-fork practice — which is facetiously called 
" keeping his Terms " — is received by the Benchers 
of the Queen's Inn in Dublin, as proof that the can- 
didate has duly qualified himself by study ! There 
is no examination as to his knowledge of law — two 
years in London, and a somewhat lesser amount of 
legal feeding in Dublin, being the sole qualification 
for the Irish Bar ! 



HENRY G RATTAN. 329 

In Michaelmas Term, 1767, being two months 
past his majority, Henry Grattan entered his name, 
as student, or the books of the Middle Temple in 
London. Although he intended to live by the prac- 
tice of the law, he devoted little attention to its study. 
Black-letter, precedents, and technicalities he cared 
little for. The broad principles of jurisprudence 
attracted his attention ; but he mastered them, not as 
an advocate, but as a future law-maker. In fact, 
nature had intended him for a politician and states- 
man, and his mind, from the first, followed the bias 
which " the mighty mother " gave. As late as Au- 
gust, 1771, when he had been four years in the Tem- 
ple, he wrote thus to a friend : " I am now becoming 
a lawyer, fond of cases, frivolous, and illiberal ; in- 
stead of Pope's and Milton's numbers, I repeat in 
solitude Coke's instructions, the nature of fee-tail, 
and the various constructions of perplexing statutes. 
This duty has been taken up too late ; not time 
enough to make me a lawyer, but sufficiently early 
to make me a dunce." In the same letter he said, 
" Your life, like mine, is devote! to professions which 
we both detest ; the vulgar honours of the law are as 
terrible to me as the restless uniformity of the mili- 
tary is to you." 

During the four years of his English residence, 
varied by occasional visits to Ireland, Mr. Grattan's 
heart certainly never warmed to the profession which 
he had chosen. The confession which I have just 



330 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

quoted was made only a few months before he was 
called to the Irish bar in Hilary Term, 1772. Yet 
he was a hard reader, a close student, an early riser, 
and a moderate liver. To afford the means of en- 
larging his library, he avoided expensive amuse- 
ments and practiced a very close economy. In No- 
vember, 1768, these saving habits became matter of 
necessity rather than of choice, when his mother 
died so suddenly that she had not time to make, as 
she had purposed, a formal disposition of her rever- 
sion to a landed property which she had meant to 
leave her son. It passed, therefore, to another branch 
of the family, leaving G rattan such limited resources 
that it now was necessary for him to follow a profes- 
sion. 

How, then, did Grattan employ his time in Eng- 
land ? We have his own regretful confession, that 
it was not, for the first four years, in the study of 
the law. Shortly after his first visit to London, he 
lost one of his sisters ; and deep sorrow for her 
death, and a distaste for society, drove him from the 
bustle of the metropolis to the retirement of the 
country. He withdrew to Sunning Hill, near Wind- 
sor Forest, amid whose mighty oaks he loved to wan- 
der, meditating upon the political questions of the 
day, and making speeches as if he already were in 
parliament. Mrs. Sawyer, his landlady, a simple- 
minded woman, knew not what to make of the odd- 
looking, strange-mannered young man, and hesitated 



HENRY GRATTAN. 331 

between the doubt whether he was insane or merely 
eccentric. When one of his friends came to see him, 
she complained that her lodger used to walk up and 
down in her garden throughout the summer nights, 
speaking to himself, and addressing an imaginary 
" Mr. Speaker," with the earnestness of an inspired 
orator. She was afraid that his derangement might 
take a dangerous character, and, in her apprehen- 
sion, offered to forgive the rent which was due, if 
his friends would only remove her eccentric lodger. 
Seventy years after this (in 1838) Judge Day, who 
lived to almost a patriarchal age, and had been inti- 
mate with Grattan in London, wrote a letter, in 
which, describing him at college, "where he soon 
distinguished himself by a brilliant elocution, a te- 
nacious memory, and abundance of classical acquire- 
ments," he proceeds to state that Grattan "always 
took great delight in frequenting the galleries, first 
of the Irish, and then of the English House of Com- 
mons, and the bars of the Lords." His biographer 
records that this amateur Parliamentary attendance 
had greater attractions for him than the pleasures 
of the metropolis, and that he devoted his evenings 
in listening, his nights in recollecting, and his days 
in copying the great orators of the time. Judge Day 
also has remembered that Grattan would spend 
whole moonlight nights in rambling and losing him- 
self in the thickest plantations of Windsor Forest, 
and " would sometimes pause and address a tree in 



332 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

soliloquy, thus preparing himself early for that as- 
sembly which lie was destined in later life to adorn." 

Such was Grattan's self-training. So did he pre- 
pare himself for that career of brilliant utility and 
patriotism which has made his name immortal. 

Events of great moment took place in England 
during Grattan's sojourn there. The contest between 
John Wilkes and the Government was then in full 
course, leading to important results, and encourag- 
ing, if it did not create, the publication of the fear- 
less and able letters of Junius. At that time, great 
men were in the British Senate, and Grattan had the 
good fortune to hear their eloquence, to watch the 
deeds in which they participated. The elder Pitt, 
who had then withdrawn from the Commons, and 
exercised great power in the Upper House, as Earl of 
Chatham, still took part in public business. There, 
too, was Lord North — shrewd, obese, good-temper- 
ed, and familiar. There was Charles James Fox, 
just commencing public life, alternately coquetting 
with politics and the faro-table — his great. rival, Pitt, 
had not then arisen, nor his eminent friend Sheridan, 
but Edmund Burke had already made his mark, 
Barre was in full force, as well as Grenville, and the 
great lawyers Loughborough and Thurlow had 
already appeared above the horizon, while Lords 
Camden and Mansfield were in the maturity of fame. 
Then, also, flourished Charles Townshend, who 
would have deserved the name of a great statesman 



IIKXKY GRATTAN. 333 

but for his mistake in trying to obtain revenue for 
England by taxation of America. There was the 
remarkable man called " Singlespeech" Hamilton, 
from one brilliant oration which was declared by 
Walpole to have eclipsed the most successful en" 
even of the elder Pitt. In the Irish Parliament, too, 
which he always visited when in Dublin during the 
Session, were men of great eminence and ability, 
with some of whom — Flood, Hutchinson, and Hus- 
sey Burgh — not long after, Grattan was himself to 
come into intellectual gladiatorship. In both coun- 
tries, therefore, he became familiar with politics and 
politicians. What marvel if he deviated from the 
technicalities of the law into the wider field of law- 
making and statesmanship? 

How closely he observed the eminent persons who 
thus came before his notice, may be j udged from the 
character of Lord Chatham, which was introduced 
in a note to "Barataria," (a satirical brochure by Sir 
Hercules Langrishe), as if from a new edition of 
Robertson's History of America. Many persons, at 
the time, who looked for it in Robertson, were dis- 
appointed at not finding it there. Apropos of Lan- 
grishe ; it may be added that he it was who said — 
that the best History of Ireland was to be found " in 
the continuation of Bap in" and excused the swampy 
state of the Phoenix Park demesne by supposing 
that the Government neglected it, being so muoh 
occupied in draining the rest of the kingdom. 



334 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Greatly admiring the nervous eloquence of Lord 
Chatham, it is evident that Grattan's own style was 
influenced, if not formed by it. He could not have 
had a better model. Grattan, out of pure admira- 
tion of the man, reported several of his speeches for 
his own subsequent use. Writing about him many 
years later, he said. ; " He was a man of great genius 
— great flight of mind. His imagination was aston- 
ishing. He was very great, and very odd.* He 
never came with a prepared harangue; his style was 
not regular oratory, like Cicero or Demosthenes, but 
it was very fine, and very elevated, and above the 
ordinary subjects of discourse. He appeared more 
like a pure character advising, than mixing in the 
debate. It was something superior to that — it was 
teaching the lords, and lecturing the King. He ap- 
peared the next greatest thing to the King, though 
infinitely sup uior. What Cicero says in his ' Cla- 
ris Oratoribus' exactly applies: ' Forma; dig- 
nitaSj corporis motus plenus et artis et venustatis, vocis 
et suavitas etrnagnitudo.' 1 'Great subjects, great em- 
pires, great characters, effulgent ideas, and classical 
illustrations formed the material of his speeches."f 

* This refers more particularly to the year 1770. 

t Grattan used to say that nothing ever was finer, in delivery 
and effect, than Chatham's appeal, on the American question, 
to the bishops, the judges, and the peers : — "You talk of driving 
the Americans : I might as veil ta ] k of driving them before me 
with this crutch" 



HENRY GRATTAN. 335 

Until he permanently and finally took up his res- 
idence in Dublin, Grattan was greatly prejudiced in 
favour of England. In August, 1771, he wrote to a 
friend that he would return to Ireland that Christ- 
mas, "to live or die with you,' 7 and added, "It is 
painful to renounce England, and my departure is 
to me the loss of youth. I submit to it on the same 
principle, and am resigned.'' At that time he was 
twenty-rive years old. 

In his letters to his friends at this time, he com- 
mented on Irish politics so forcibly as to show that 
he was a close observer. Alluding to the means 
used by the Viceroy (Lord Townshend) to corrupt 
the legislature, he said, " So total an overthrow has 
Freedom received, that its voice is heard only in 
the accents of despair." This sentence very proba- 
bly sugggested the concluding part of Moore's beau- 
tiful lyric, " The harp that once through Tara's 
halls," 

" Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 
The only throb she gives, 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 
To show that still she lives." 

Early in 1772, Grattan was called to the Irish 
bar — not from any predilection for the profession, 
but from the necessity of eking out his limited 
means by the exercise of his talents. It is recorded 
that having gone the circuit, and failed to gam a 



336 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

verdict iii an important case where he was specially 
retained, he actually returned to his client half the 
amount of his fee — fifty guineas. A man who could 
act thus, was clearly not fitted for the profession, 
nor destined to arrive at wealth by its means. 

At that time the rising talent of Ireland was de- 
cidedly liberal,- and in favor of progress. Grattan 
was thrown into familiar intimacy with this society, 
and his own opinions were influenced, if not deter- 
mined, by the Catholic spirit of their avowed prin- 
ciples. Lord Oharlemont, Hussey Burgh, Robert 
Day, (afterwards the Judg},)D3nnis Daly, and Barry 
Yelverton — men whose names are familiar to all 
who have read the history of Ireland's later years of 
nationality — were his familiar friends. 

Grattan wished for the lettered ease of literary re- 
tirement, but his narrow means did not permit him 
to live without labour. He said, " What can a mind 
do without the exercise of business, or the relaxation 
of pleasure?" He took to politics as a relief from 
the demon of ennui. He attended the debates in 
Parliament. He said " they were insipid ; every 
one was speaking ; nobody was eloquent." He had 
become a lawyer, as he sadly confessed, " without 
knowledge or ambition in his profession." He would 
fain have gone into retirement, but complained that, 
in his too hospitable country, "wherever you fly, 
wherever you secrete yourself, the sociable disposi- 
tion of the Irish will follow you, and in' every bar- 



HENRY GRATTAN. 337 

ren spot of that kingdom you must submit to a state 
of dissipation or hostility." He said that his passion 
was retreat, for "there is certainly repose, and may 
be a defence, in insignificance." 

He was destined for better things, lie had mar 
ried Henrietta Fitzgerald, who claimed descent from 
the Desmond family, (actually from that branch of 
which that Countess of Desmond, who died at the 
age of 162, was the foundress,) but had, as her own 
dowry, the far greater wealth of youth, beauty, vir- 
tue, talent, and devoted affection. The union was 
eminently happy. Mrs. Grattan became the mother 
of thirteen children, and it is known that on many 
occasions, but especially in the troublous times of 
1798 and 1800, (the rebellion and the betrayal of 
Ireland by her parliament,) Grattan frequently con- 
sulted and acted on the advice of his wife, which in- 
variably was to do what was right, regardless of per- 
sonal consequences. After his marriage, he went to 
reside in the county Wicklow, where, almost from 
early youth, he had been enamoured of the beautiful 
scenery, and even then spoke of Tinnahinch, which he 
subsequently purchased, as a place which might be 
" the recreation of an active life, or the retreat of an 
obscure one, or the romantic residence of philosophi- 
cal friendship." "Here," said his son, " he mused 
in when melancholy, he rejoiced in when gay ; here 
he often trod, meditating on his county's wrongs — 
her long, dreary night of oppression ; and here he first 
15 



338 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

beheld the bright transient light of her redemption 
and her glory." Here, too, in the moments of grief 
hs wept over her divisions and her downfall. The 
place continues a family possession, and, identified 
as it is with the name of Grattan, should never be 
allowed to pass into the possession of any others. 

Grattan's wife, highly gifted by nature, and with 
her mind cultivated and enlarged by education, ur- 
gently pressed him to embark in political life. She 
knew, even better than himself, what his mental re- 
sources were, how patriotic were his impulses, how 
great his integrity, how undaunted his courage. 
She interested his friends in his behalf, and, at last, 
on the death of Mr. Caulfield (Lord Charlemont's 
brother), Grattan was returned to Parliament for the 
borough of Charlemont, and on the 11th of Decem- 
ber, 1775, in his thirtieth year, Henry Grattan took 
his seat as member for Charlemont. On the fourth 
day after he made a speech — a spontaneous, un- 
studied, and eloquent reply — and it was at once 
seen and admitted that his proper place was in Par- 
liament. From that day the life of Grattan can be 
read in the history of Ireland. 

What he did may be briefly summed up. He 
establishsd the Independence of Ireland, by procur- 
ing the repeal of the statute by which it had been 
declared that Ireland was inseparably annexed to 
the Crown of Great Britain, and bound by British 
acts of Parliament, if named in them — that the 



BENRY G RATTAN. 339 

Irish House of Lords Lad no jurisdiction in mat- 
ters of appeal — and that the dernier resort, in all 
cases of law and equity, was to the peers of Great 

Britain. 

For his great services in thus establishing Ire- 
land's rights, the Parliament voted him £00,000. 
He considered that this was a retainer for the future 
as well as a mark of gratitude for the past, and 
henceforth devoted the remainder of his life — a 
period of nearly forty years — to the service of his 
country. 

G rattan's last act, as an. Irish legislator, was to 
oppose the Union, Avhich destroyed the nationality 
lie had made — his last act, as a public man, was to 
hurry to London, in his scventj-fifth year, under the 
infliction of a mortal disease, to present the peti- 
tion in favour of the Irish Catholics, and support it. 
at the risk of life, in Parliament. 

Grattan's great achievements were all accomplished 
in early life, while the "purpurea juvenilis" was in 
its bloom, while the heart was in its spring. Great 
men, of all shades of political and party passion have 
been eager and eloquent in his praise. Byroi^ 
speaking of Ireland, ranked him first among those 

" Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war, 
And redeemed, if they have not retarded, her fall." 

Moore, who knew him well, said, 



340 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

" What an union of all the affections and powers, 
By which life is exalted, embellished, refined, 
Was embraced in that spirit — whose centre was ours, 
While its mighty circumference circled mankind." 

Faithfully too, as well as poetically, did he de- 
scribe his speeches as exhibiting 

" An eloquence rich, wherever its wave 

Wandered free and triumphant, with thoughts that shone 
through, 
As clear as the brook's ' stone of lustre,' and gave, 
With the flash of the gem, its solidity too." 

Lord Brougham said that it was " not possible to 
name any one, the purity of whose reputation has 
been stained by so few faults, and the lustre of 
whose renown is dimmed by so few imperfections." 
After describing the characteristics of his eloquence, 
he added, " It may be truly said that Dante himself 
never conjured up a striking image in fewer words 
than Mr. Grattan employed to describe his relation 
towards Irish independence, when, alluding to its 
rise in 1782 ; and its fall, twenty years later, he said, 
' I sat by its cradla — I followed its hearse.' " 

Sydney Smith, in an article in the Edinburgh Re- 
view, shortly after Grattan's death, thus bore testi- 
mony to his worth : — " Great men hallow a whole 
people, and lift up all who live in their time. What 
Irishman does not feel proud that he has lived in 
the days of Grattan ? who has not turned to him- 



HENRY G RATTAN. 341 

for comfort, from tlie false friends and open enemies 
of Ireland? who did not remember him in the days 
of its burnings, wastings and murders ? No govern- 
ment ever dismayed him — the world could not 
bribe him — he thought only of Ireland: lived for 
no other object: dedicated to her his beautiful 
fancy, his elegant wit, his manly courage, and all 
the splendour of his astonishing eloquence. He was 
so born, so gifted, that poetry, forensic skill, elegant 
literature, and all the highest attainments of human 
genius, were within his reach ; but he thought the 
noblest occupation of a man was to make other men 
happy and free; and in that straight line he kept 
for fifty years, without one side-look, one yielding 
thouglit, one motive in his heart which he might 
not have laid open to the view of God or man." 
The man to whom tributes such as these were 
voluntarily paid, must have been a mortal of no 
ordinary character and merit. 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 

Daxiel O'Connell, at one period called "the 
member for all Ireland," was born, not at, but near 
Derrynane Abbey, in Kerry, on the 6th of August, 
1775, and died at Genoa on the loth of May, 1847. 
lie had nearly completed his seventy-second year. 
For nearly forty years of that extended period he 
had been a public man — perhaps the most public 
man in Ireland. For at least a quarter of a century 
his reputation was not merely Irish — nor British — 
nor European — but unquestionably cosmopolitan. 

Fallen as we are upon the evil days of Mediocrity, 
it may not be useless to dwell upon the conduct and 
the character, the aims and the actions, of one who, 
think of him as we may, candour must admit to be 
one of the great men of the age, — one of the very 
few great men of Ireland's later years. 

" Some men are born to greatness — some achieve 
greatness — and some have greatness thrust upon 
them." Daniel O'Connell stands in a predicament 
between the two latter postulates. He certainly 
was the artificer of his own fame and power, but, as 
certainly, much of it arose out of the force of circum- 
stances When he launched his bark upon the 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 343 

ocean of politics, he may have anticipated some- 
thing — much of success and eminenc -, but he never 
could have dreamed of wielding such complete and 
magnificent power as was long at his command. 
Strong determination, great ability, natural facility 
of expression, the art of using strong words with- 
out committing himself, and a most elastic tem- 
perament, ("prepared for either fortune," as Eugene 
Aram said of himself) — all these formed an extra- 
ordinary combination, and yet all these, even in 
their unity, might have been of little worth, but for 
the admitted fact that circumstances happily occurred 
which allowed these qualities a fair scope for devel- 
opment. Many poets, I dare swear, have lived 
and died unknown — either not writing at all, or 
writing but to destroy what they had written. No- 
ble orators have lived and died, "mute and inglo- 
rious," because the opportunity for display had never 
been given. In truth, we may say, with Philip 
Van Artevelde, 

" The world knows nothing of its greatest men." 

It is the curse of Authorship that until the grave 
fully closes upon his ashes, the fame of the writer is 
scarcely or slightly acknowledged. When the turf 
presses upon his remains, we yield tardy justice to 
his merits, and translate him, as a star, into the 
"heaven of heavens" of renown. But the Orator, 



34-i BITS OF BLAKXKV. 

on the other hand, has his claims admitted from the 
commencement — he may make his fame by one bold 
effort — lie may win admiration at one bound, and 
each successive trial, while it matures his powers, 
increases his reputation. He lives in the midst of 
his fame — it surrounds him, like a halo : he is the 
observed of all observers, — he has constant motive 
for exertion — he breathes the very atmosphere of 
popularity, and has perpetual excitement to keep up 
his exertions. Of this there scarcely ever was a 
more palpable example than O'Connell. Originally 
gifted with all the attributes of a popular if not a 
great orator, he advanced, by repeated efforts, to 
the foremost rank, because the public voice cheered 
him — the public opinion fostered him. Had he, for 
three or four years, spoken to dull or cold audiences, 
the world would probably have lost him as an ora- 
tor. He might, indeed, have been a great forensic 
speaker, but of that eloquence which placed seven 
millions of Irish Catholics in a situation where, 
without being branded as rebels, they might openly 
demand "justice for Ireland," the chance is, the 
world have known nothing. What man, before 
this man, had ever succeeded in awakening at once 
the sympathy of the old and of the nt,w world? 
Few men so well out-argued the sophistry of tyr- 
anny. Far above the crowd must he be, who, 
at one and the same time, affrighted the Russian 
autocrat by his bold invectives, and was appealed 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. S45 

to as the common enemy of misrule, by the unhappy 
victims of the " Citizen-King " — who not only as- 
serted the rights of bis fellow slaves in Ireland, but 
hesitated not, at all times and in all places, to ex- 
press his 

" Utter detestation 
Of every tyranny in every nation !" 

O'Connell was often denounced as a "Dictator." 
What made him one ? The exclusive laws which 
kept him humiliated in his native land. The wrongs 
of Ireland made him what he was, and Misrule care- 
fully maintained the laws which made those wrongs- 
Had Ireland been justly governed, there would not 
have been occasion for such " agitation " as Mr. 
O'Connell kept up. If the "agitator" was indeed 
the monster which he was represented to be, Misrule 
is the Frankenstein which made him so. The 
wrongs of Ireland and the tyranny of evil govern- 
ment goaded him into action, and gave him power. 
Misrule sowed the wind, and reaped the whirlwind. 

It has been strongly asserted, and as strongly de- 
nied, that a long line of ancestry gave O'Connell an 
hereditary right to take part in the public affairs of 
his native land, as if he, and all of us, did not in- 
herit that right as an heir-loom derived from the 
first principles of nature. The tmdition of his house 
was that the O'Connell family were entitled to rank 
among the most ancient in Ireland, antiquarians 
15* 



846 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

having avowed that his surname was derived from 
Conal Grabhra, a prince of the royal line of Milesius 
— that they originally possessed immense estates in 
the county of Limerick, and removed to the barony 
of Iveragh, in the western extremity of Kerry, where 
they enjoyed the almost regal office of Toparchs; — 
that, in the time of Elizabeth, their then chief. Rich 
arc! O'Connell, made submission of his lands to the 
British crown ; — that the rebellion of 1641 removed 
the sept O'Connell to the County Clare, by forfeiture 
(a certain Maurice O'Connell it was who forfeited 
his property in the Civil AVars of 1641, and received 
the estates in Clare as a partial indemnity ; his uncle, 
Daniel O'Connell of Aghgore, in Iveragh, took no 
share in the Civil War, and thus preserved his es- 
tate) ; — that the Clare branch of the family supported 
James II., and, on the triumphs of the Orange party, 
had to seek in foreign lands the distinctions from 
which, the Penal Laws excluded it in its own. 

One of these, a certain Daniel O'Connell, who 
subsequently was created Count of " the Holy Ro- 
man Empire," disqualified, by his religion, from 
holding military or civil rank in his own country, 
entered the French service in 1757 — when he was 
only fourteen years of age. He served in the seven 
years' war — at the capture of Port Mahon, in 1779, 
and was severely Vounded at the grand sortie on 
Gibra.ter in 1782 — remained faithful to Louis XVI., 
until fidelity was of no further use — emigrated to 



DANIEL O'CONXKLL. '347 

England — was there appointed, in 1793, Colonel of 
the 6th Irish Brigade — retained that command until 
the corps was disbanded — returned to France, at the 
Restoration, in 1814 — was there and then restored to 
his rank of General and Colonel-Commandant of the 
regiment of Salm, and named Grand Cross of the 
Order of St. Louis — refused to take rank under 
Louis Philippe — and died in 1834, aged ninety-one 
a military patriarch, full of years and honours, hold- 
ing the rank of General in the French, and being 
oldest Colonel in the English service. Count 
O'Connell was grand-uncle to "the Liberator." 

It may not be generally known that the military 
tactics of Europe at the present day have emanated 
from Count O'Connell. The French Government 
resolved, in 1787, that the art of war should be 
thoroughly revised, and a military board, consisting 
of four general officers and one colonel, was formed 
for that purpose. Count O'Connell, who then com- 
manded the Roj'al Suedois (or Swedish) regiment, 
was justly accounted one of the most scientific offi- 
cers in the service, and was named as the junior 
member of that board. The other members soon 
discovered how correct and original were the views 
of their colleague, and unanimously confided to him 
the redaction of the whole military code of France. 
So well did he execute this important commission, 
that his tactics were followed in the early cam- 
paigns ^f revolutionized France, by Napoleon — and 



Stt8 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

finally adopted by Prussia, Austria, Russia and 
England. 

To Morgan O'Connell, father of " the Liberator," 
descended none of the property originally held by 
the family. His elder brother, Maurice, succeeded 
to a large portion, (that which eventually was be- 
queathed to Daniel,) and it had the jDeculiarity of 
being free from all chiefry, imposts, or Crown charge 
— an unusual thing, and occurring only in the in- 
stance of very remote tenure. This portion was 
held under what was called Shelburne leases — renew- 
able for ever, and first granted before the enactment 
of the Penal laws, and therefore not "discoverable;" 
that is, not liable to be claimed from a Catholic 
holder by any Protestant who chose to claim them. 

Daniel O'Connell's father became a petty farmer 
and a small shop-keeper at Cahirciveen. At that time 
he was simply known as "Morgan Connell," — there 
being some to this day who wholly deny the right 
Of 'the family to the prefix of " 0." The Irish 
proverb says: 

By Mac and 0, 

You'll always know 
True Irishmen, they say ; 

For if they lack 

The or Mac, 
No Irishmen are they. 

The same doubters have contended that the inde 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 349 

pendence realized by Morgan O'Connell was gained, 
not by farming nor by shop-keeping, but by exten- 
sive smuggling. But it was gained in some manner, 
and with it was purchased a small estate at Carhen 
within a mile of Cahirciveen, where his years of in- 
dustry had been passed, and not far from Derrynane. 
It was at Carhen that Daniel O'Connell was born, on 
the 6th August, 1775 — the very day (lie used to say) 
on which were commenced hostilities between Great 
Britain and her American colonies. 

Daniel O'ConiieH's grandfather was the third son 
of twenty-two children. He died in 1770, leaving 
as his successor his second son, Maurice (John, the 
eldest, having predeceased him). This gentleman 
was never married, and it was on his death, in 1825, 
that the ''Agitator" succeeded him as owner of the 
Derrynane estate. Morgan O'Connell (father to the 
" Liberator") died in 1809, and left two other sons, 
who are also handsomely provided for — John, as 
owner of Greiia, and James of Lakeview, both places 
near Killarney . 

I trust that I have not travelled out of my 
way to give this sketch of the descent of the 
family connexions of O'Connell. It shows that, 
at any rate, he is not the novus homo — the mere 
upstart, without the advantages of birth and for- 
tune, which he was often represented to be. At 
the same time, no O'Connell need be ashamed of 
what honest industry accomplished — that much of 



350 B rs OF BLARNEY. 

the landed property which O'Connell's father inherit- 
ed," held by John O'Connell of Grena, was purchased 

from the profits of his business as a fan nor and gen- 
eral shop-keeper. 

From the first, Maurice O'Connell, of Derrynane, 
attached himself to his nephew Daniel, whom he 
educated. The earliest instructions in any branch 
of learning which the future " Liberator " received, 
were communicated to him by a poor hedge-school- 
master, of a class ever abounding in Keny, where 
every man is said to speak Latin. David Mahonj^ 
happened to call at Carhen when little Daniel was 
only four years old, took him in his lap, and taught 
him the alphabet in an hour and a half. Some years 
later, he was regularly taught by Mr. Harrington- 
one of the first priests who set up a school after the 
repeal of the laws which made it penal for a Roman 
Catholic clergyman even to live in Ireland. At the 
a^e of fourteen he went abroad with his brother 

o 

Maurice to obtain a good education. 

Seventy years ago, the policy, or rather the im- 
policy of English domination actually prohibited 
the education of the Catholics within Great Britain 
and Ireland. They were, therefore, either compel- 
led to put up with very limited education, or forced 
to go abroad for instruction, — rather a curious mode 
of predisposing their minds in favour of the English 
laws. Mr. O'Connell was originally intended for 
the priesthood, and was educated at the Catholic 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 56J 

seminary of Louvain, next at St. Oraer, and, finally, 

at the English college of Donay, in France. But, 
at that time, there were fully as many lay aa cleri- 
cal pupils at that colle^ 

At St. Omer, Daniel O'Connell rose to the first 
place in all the classes, and the President of the Col- 
wrote to his uncle, in Ireland — " I have but one 
sentence to write about him, and that is, that I never 
was so mistaken in all my life as I shall be, ui 
he be destined to make a remarkable figure in soci- 
ety." 

The two brothers commenced their homeward 
journey on the 21st of December, 1793 — the very 
day on which Louis XVI. was guillotined at 
Paris. During their journey from Douay to Cal- 
ais, they were obliged to wear the revolutionary 
cockade, for safety. But, as good Catholics, they 
were bound to abhor the atrocities perpetrated, at 
that time, by the Jacobins, in the sacred name of 
liberty, and when the}' stood on the deck of the Eng- 
lish packet-boat, indignantly tore the tri-colour from 
their hats, and flung them, with all contempt, into 
the water. Some French fishermen, who saw the 
act, rescued the cockades, and flung imprecations 
against the "aristocrats" who had rejected them. 
At the same time, when an enthusiastic Irish repub- 
lican, who had "assisted "at the execution of Louis, 
exhibited a handkerchief stained with his blood, the 
young students turned, away and shunned him, in 



362 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

disgust and abhorrence. Not then, nor at any 
period of his career, was O'Connell an anti -mon- 
archist. It is said that, during the trial of Thomas 
Hardy, at London, (October, 1794,) for high trea- 
son, he was so much shocked at the unfair means 
used by the Crown lawyers to convict the ac- 
cused — means foiled by eloquent Erskine and an 
honest jury — that he resolved to place himself as 
a champion of Eight against Might, and identify 
himself with the cause of the people. While he was 
on the Continent, that relaxation of the Penal laws 
took place which allowed the Catholic to become 
a barrister. It is probable that tliis was the imme- 
diate cause of his becoming a lawyer. A young 
man of his sanguine temperament was likely to 
prefer the bar, with its temporal advantages, 
— its scope for ambition, — its excitement, — its fame, 
to the more secluded life of an ecclesiastic. Accord- 
ingly, I find that he entered as a law-student 
at Lincoln's Inn, in January, 1794 — eat the re- 
quisite number of term-dinners there, for two 
years — pursuad the same qualifj'ing course ot 
" study " at King's Inn, Dublin, and was called to 
the Irish bar, in Easter term, 1798, in the 23d 
year of his age. 

The Rebellion was in full fling at the time, 
and (in order, no doubt, to show his "loyalty" as 
a Catholic) he joined what was called "the law- 
yers' corps," associated to assist the Government in 
putting down revolt. 



DANIEL OCONNKLL. 353 

The peiiod of his admission was singularly fa- 
vourable. Catholics had just been admitted to 
the Irish bar — to the minor honours of the pro- 
fession; although it was hoped, and not extrava- 
gantly, that, in time, all its privileges would be 
thrown open to them. It was impossible to say 
what was Mr. O'Connell's ambition at the time; 
however high, he could not have had a dream of the 
elevation which he subsequently reached, lie must 
have felt, however, that he had a wide field for the 
exercise of his abilities. His ostensible ambition, 
for many years, was to become a good lawyer. Dur- 
ing what is called " the long vacation," and at other 
periods when he could spare time, he resided a good 
deal with his uncle in Kerry, where he pursued the 
athletic sports in which, almost to the close of his 
career, he delighted to participate. On one occasion, 
while out npon a hunting expedition, he put up at a 
peasant's cabin, sat for some hours in his wet clothes, 
and contracted a typhus fever. In his delirium he 
often repeated the lines from Home's tragedy of 
Douglas : 

" Unknown I die — no fongue shall speak of me. 
Some noble spirits, judging by themselves, 
May yet conjecture what I might have proved, 
And think life only wanting to my fame." 

His son has preserved a letter, written in Decem- 
ber, 1795, when he was in his twenty-first year, in 



354 BITS OF BLARNEY 

in Inch tie communicates his views to his uncle Mau- 
rice, of Derrynane. A passage or two may be worth 
quoting, to show with what earnestness he devoted 
himself to the career upon which he was then pre- 
paring to enter. He says, " I have now two objects 
to pursue — the one, the attainment of knowledge ; 
the other, the acquisition of all those qualities which 
constitute the polite gentleman. I am convinced 
that the former, besides the immediate pleasure which ^ 
it yields, is calculated to raise me to honour, rank, and 
fortune [how prophetic were the young man's aspi- 
rations !] ; and I know that the latter serves as a 
general passport or first recommendation; and, as' 
for the motives of ambition which you suggest, I 
assure you that no man can possess more of it than 
I do. I have, indeed, a glowing, and— if I may use 
the expression — an enthusiastic ambition, which con- 
verts every toil into a 'pleasure, and every study into 
an amusement." 

He adds, in the same honourable spirit, *' Though 
nature may have given me subordinate talents, I 
never will be satisfied with a subordinate situation 
in my profession. No man is able, I am aware, to 
supply the total deficiency' of abilities, but every 
body is capable of improving and enlarging a stock, 
however small, and, in its beginning, contemptible. 
It is this reflection that affords me most consolation. 
If I do not rise at the bar, I will not have to meet 
the reproaches of my own conscience. * * * In- 



DANIEL O'fJONNELL. 855 

deed, as for my knowledge in the professional line, 
that cannot be discovered for some years to come ; 
but I have time in the interim to prepare myself to 
appear with greater eclat on the grand theatre of the 
world." 

As a barrister, he naturally took the Minister cir- 
cuit, and here his family connexion operated very 
much in his favour. In the counties of Clare, Limer- 
ick, Kerry and Cork, he had relatives in abundance, 
and being,' I believe, the first Catholic who had gone 
that circuit, he naturally engrossed a considerable 
portion of the business which the Catholics had pre- 
viously, ex necessitate^ distributed among the barris- 
ters of a contrary persuasion. He succeeded, more- 
over, in establishing the reputation of being a shrewd, 
clever, hard-working lawyer, and briefs flowed in so 
abundantly, that he may be cited as one instance, 
amid the ten thousand difficulties of the bar, of great 
success being immediately acquired. There was 
nothing precarious in this success : he was evidently 
a shrewd, clever, long-headed lawyer, and while the 
Catholics gave him briefs, because of his family and 
religion, the Protestants, not less wise, were not back- 
ward in engaging his assistance — not that they much 
loved the man, but that his assistance was worth 
having, as that of a man with a clear head, a welL 
rilled mind, strong natural eloquence, and, from the 
very first, a mastery over the art of cross-examining 
witnesses. 



356 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

O'Conuell's friends scarcely anticipated, from what 
his youth had been, the success which met him on 
his first step into active manhood. He held his first 
brief at the Kerry Assizes, in Tralee. Between a 
country gentleman named Brusker Segerson and the 
O'Connells there long had been a family feud. 
Brusker accused one of the O'Connell tenants at 
Iveragh, of sundry crimes and misdemeanors, which 
judge and jury had " well and truly to try and deter- 
mine." Young O'Connell had his maiden brief in 
this case. Bmsker, knowing the young lawyer's in- 
experience, anticipated a triumph over him, and in- 
vited a party of friends to witness the " fatal facility" 
with which the accused would be worsted. But it 
happened not only that the accused was the acquitted, 
but there was a general opinion, from the facts on 
the trial, that Brusker Segerson's conduct had been 
oppressive, if not illegal. Brusker turned round to 
his friends and soundly swore that " Morgan O'Con- 
nelVs fool was a great lawyer, and would be a great 
man. 1 ' Henceforth he always employed O'Connell 
— but with the distinct and truly Irish understanding 
that the hereditary and personal feud between them 
should in no wise be diminished! 

One of O'Connell's earliest displays of acuteness 
was at Tralee, in the year 1799, shortly after he had 
been called to the bar. In an intricate case, where 
he was junior counsel (having got the brief more as 
a family compliment than from any other cause), the 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 357 

question in dispute was as to the validity of a will, 
which had been made almost in articulo mortis. The 
instrument was drawn up with proper form : the 
witnesses were examined, and gave ample conlirma. 
tion that the deed had been legally executed. One 
of them was an old servant, possessed of a strong 
passion for loquacity. It fell to O'Connell to c 
examine him, and the young barrister allowed him 
to speak on, in the hope that he might say too much. 
Nor was this hope disappointed. The witness had 
already sworn that he saw the deceased sign the will. 
"Yes," continued he, with all the garrulousness of 
old age, "I saw him sign it, and surely there teas 
life in him at the time.' 1 The expression, frequently 
repeated, led O'Connell to conjecture that it had a 
peculiar meaning. Fixing his eye upon the old 
man he said, — " You have taken a solemn oath be- 
fore God and man to speak the truth and the whole 
truth : the eye of God is upon you ; the eyes of 
your neighbours are fixed upon you also. Answer 
me, by the virtue of that sacred and solemn oath 
which has passed your lips, was the testator alive 
when he signed the wiUV] The witness was struck 
with the solemn manner in which he was addressed, 
his colour changed — his lips quivered — his limbs 
trembled, and he faltered out the reply — " there was 
life in him." The question was repeated in a yet 
more impressive manner, and the result was that 
O'Connell half compelled, half cajoled him to admit 



358 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

that, after life was extinct, a pen had been put into 
the testator's hand, — that one of the party guided it 
to sign his name, while, as a salvo, for the consciences 
of all concerned, a living fly was put into the dead 
man's mouth, to qualify the witnesses to bear testi- 
mony that "there was life in him" when he signed 
that will. This fact, thus extorted from the witness, 
preserved a large property in a respectable and 
worthy family, and was one of the first occurrences 
in O'Connell's legal career worth mentioning. Miss 
Edgeworth, in her "Patronage," has an incident not 
much different from this ; perhaps suggested by it. 
The plaintiffs in this case were two sisters named 
Langton, both of Avhom still enjoy the property 
miraculously preserved to them by the ingenuity of 
O'Connell ; they were connexions of my own (Sarah 
Langton, the youngest, was married to my cousin, 
Frank Drew, of Drewscourt), and I have often heard 
them relate the manner in which he had contrived 
to elicit the truth. 

It is no common skill which can protect innc >ence 
from shame, or rescue guilt from punishment. No- 
thing less than an intimate knowledge of the feelings 
of the jury, and the habits and characteristics of the 
witnesses, can enable an advocate to throw himself 
into the confidence of a jury composed of the most 
incongruous elements, and to confuse, baffle, or de- 
tect the witnesses. There is no power so strong as 
that of good cross-examination ; and I never knew 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 359 

any man possess that power in a more eminent de- 
gree than O'Connell. The difficulty is to avoid 
asking too many questions. Sometimes a single 
query will weaken evidence, while a word more 
may make the witness confirm it. Some witu 
require to be pressed, before they bring out the 
truth — others, if too much pressed, will turn at bay, 
and fatally corroborate every thing to which they 
already have sworn. It is no common skill which, 
intuitively as it were, enables the advocate to per- 
ceive when he may go to the end of his tether, — 
when he must restrain. The fault of a young bar- 
rister is that he asks too many questions. It is a cu- 
rious fact, that, from the first moment he was called 
to the bar, O'Connell distinguished himself by his 
cross-examinations. If he was eminent in a criminal 
trial, he was no less so in civil cases. Here he 
brought all his legal learning to bear upon the case, 
and here, too, he had the additional aid of that elo- 
quence which usually drew a jury with him. 

John O'Connell gives an anecdote which illus- 
trates his father's success in the defence of his pris. 
oners. It had fallen to his lot, at the Assizes in Cork 
to be retained for a man on a trial for an aggravated 
case of highway robbery. By an able cross-exam- 
ination, O'Connell was enabled to procure the man's 
acquittal. The following year, at the Assizes for the 
same town, he found himself again retained for the 
same individual, then on trial for a burglary, com- 



360 HITS OF BLARNEY . 

mitted with great violence, very little short of a de- 
liberate attempt to murder. On this occasion, the 
result of Mr. O'Connell's efforts rose a 'disagreement 
of the jury ; and, therefore, no verdict. The Gov- 
ernment witnesses having been entirely discredited 
during the cross-examination, the case was pursued 
no farther, and the prisoner was discharged. Again, 
the succeeding year, he was found in the criminal 
dock ; this time on a charge of piracy ! He had 
run away with a collier brig, and having found 
means for disposing of a portion of her cargo, and 
afterwards of supplying himself with some arms, he 
had actually commenced cruising on his own ac- 
count, levying contributions from such vessels as 
he chanced to fall in with. Having " caught a tar- 
tar," whilst engaged in this profitable occupation, he 
was brought into Cove, and thence sent up to Cork 
to stand his trial for "piracy on the high seas." 
Again Mr. O'Connell saved him, by demurring to 
the jurisdiction of the Court — the offence having 
been committed within the j urisdiction of the Ad- 
miralty, and, therefore, cognizable only before an 
Admiralty Court. When the fellow saw his suc- 
cessful counsel facing the dock, he stretched over 
to speak to him, and, raising his eyes and hands 
most piously and fervently to heaven, he cried out — 
" Oh, Mr. O'Connell, may the Lord spare you — to 
me/" 
Here let me give my opinion, that the disqualifi- 



DANIEL CTCONNELL. 361 

cation of his religious tenets, which kept lmn in a 
stuff gown while his juniors in standing, and infe- 
riors in talent, were strutting about with all profes- 
sional honour, was not much detriment to O'Connell's 
advancement. Here was a man, confessedly at the 
head of his profession, yet excluded from its honours 
by unjust and intolerant laws — it became, therefore, 
a practice to consider him a martyr for the sake i >f 
his religion, and he got many and many a brief be- 
cause such was the feeling. His disqualification as 
a Catholic gained him business as a Barrister. 

The Union failed to make Ireland happy — because 
the chains of the Catholics were still allowed to gall 
them, instead, as Mr. Pitt contemplated, of being re- 
moved with the least possible delay. George III. 
threw himself between Ireland and justice. Belief 
was expected from Mr. Fox, and might, perhaps, 
have been granted, but the death of that statesman, 
almost immediately succeeded by an Anti-Catholic 
Ministry, sounded the knell to the hopes of the peo- 
ple of Ireland. It was at this time that Mr. O'Con 
nell came forward as a politician ; he had personal 
reasons for doing so, because, now being in the en- 
joyment of a very excellent practice at the bar, he 
found numerous vexations arising from the privileges 
enjoyed by men less talented, less qualified than 
himself, but who enjoyed the advantages which re- 
ligious and political "ascendency" gave them. 

The Catholics at last threw themselves into an 
16 



362 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

attitude of defence. O'Connell's first decided step* 
was the taking part in the proceedings of a meeting 
of Catholics, held in Dublin in May, 1809. Then, 
for the first time for over a hundred years, Catholics 
literally "spoke out." Their daring appeared to 
draw strength for their despair. What was called 
"the Catholic Committee" was formed, and this, 
strongly against O'Connell's advice, violated the 
law by assuming a representative character. Lord 
Killeen (eldest son of the Earl of Fingal, a Catholic 
peer), and some others of the leaders, were prosecuted 
by the Government. They were defended by O'Con- 
nell, and Ireland then witnessed the almost unpre- 
cedented circumstance of Catholic agitators being 
acquitted by a Protestant jury in Dublin. 

The Catholic Committee, however, became alarmed, 
and broke up. Then was formed the Catholic Board, 
at which it was a matter of dispute whether Eman- 
cipation might not be purchased by allowing the 
Crown to pay the Catholic clergy, and giving the 
head of the Church of England a veto on the ap- 
pointment of Catholic bishops in Ireland. Feeble 
and vacillating, the greater portion of the Catholic 
nobility held aloof from the struggle, in which 
O'Connell took the popular side. Later in the day, 

* O'Connell's first public speech was against the Union. It 
was made on January 13, 1800, at a Catholic meeting in Dublin, 
in unequivocal condemnation of that measure The resolutions 
that day adopted were drawn up by- O'Connell. 



DANIEL O'COXNKLI, 363 

Sheil entered the arena, and assumed an antagonistic 
position. 

The late Duke of Kichmond (Viceroy of Ireland) 
put down the Catholic Board by means of his At- 
torney-General Saurin. The members of that Board, 
as some small acknowledgment for the services of 
their oolleague, voted Mr. O'Connell a piece of plate, 
of the value of 1000/. The Board being put down, 
the Catholic cause would have fallen but for the in- 
trepidity of O'Connell, who assumed the leadership 
at once, and published a letter, continued annually 
for a long time, in which he stated the wrongs of 
Ireland, with her claims for relief, and suggested the 
mode of action. This annual message had the 
motto, from Childe Harold, 

" Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not, 
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow." 

Mr. Saurin is said to have seriously contemplated 
prosecuting O'Connell for sedition because of this 
motto from " Childe Harold." 

The Catholic Board was suppressed, it is true, 
but there remained a thousand modes of action by 
which the spirit of patriotism might be kept alive in 
Ireland. Aggregate and other public meetings were 
instantly held, and at one of these Mr. O'Connell, in 
1815, designated the Corporation of Dublin as a 
" beggarly corporation." A member of that " beg- 
garly" and bankrupt body took upon himself to 



3(U BITS OF BLARNEY. 

play the bravo in its defence. This man was a Mr. 
D'Esterre, and is understood to have had a promise 
of patronage from the Corporation (in the shape of 
a good berth), if he humbled the pride of O'Connell. 
It is more charitable than reasonable to hope that 
the Corporation were not so ruffianly as to hold out 
this hope to D'Esterre, because he was notoriously 
the best shot in Dublin ; and yet, such "honourable " 
assassination is exactly what such a body would re- 
ward, if they did not suggest it. 

D'Esterre paraded the streets of Dublin with a 
horse-whip in his hand, and vowed vengeance 
against O'Connell. He did not meet him ; but he 
afterwards challenged him. O'Connell refused to 
apologize — met the challenger, and mortally wound- 
ed him. D'Esterre, as I have said, was a crack 
shot, and O'Connell was not; but it sometimes hap- 
pens that the practiced duellist suffers the penalty 
which he has inflicted upon others. 

D'Esterre had been an officer of marines, and it 
has been stated, and always believed, that he con- 
stituted himself the Champion of the Corporation, 
not only in the hope, but with a direct promise of 
obtaining a lucrative appointment, provided that he 
"silenced" O'Connell. The odds were five to one 
in his favour — for he was cool and determined, and 
could snuff a candle with a pistol shot at twelve 
paces. His skill, his coolness, availed not. At the 
first shot he fell, and his death speedily followed. 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 365 

Soon after, Sir Robert Peel (the then Irish Secre- 
tary) fastened a quarrel upon Mr. O'Connell, who 
again placed himself i:\ the hands of his friends. A 
hostile meeting was appointed — the authorities in 
Dublin interfered — the parties were bound over to 
keep the peace — they agreed to meet on the Conti- 
nent, but the duel was ultimately prevented hy the 
arrest of Mr. O'Connell, in London, on his way to 
Calais. He was held to bail before the Chief Jus- 
tice of the King's Bench, not to fight Mr. Peel ; and 
since that time declined any further meetings of the 
sort.* It would have been well if, when he deter- 
mined to avoid duels, O'Connell had also resolved 
to abstain from language offensive to men of honour 
and men of feeling. His chief fault, during his last 
thirty years, was the application of epithets towards 

* It was the late Dr. England, Catholic Bishop of Charleston. 
S. C, who then resided near Cork, who pointed out to O'Con- 
nell the conjoint sin and folly of duelling, and induced him to 
promise that he would never again appeal to arms. It was re- 
ported, at the time, that O'Connell had lingered in London, 
when Peel expected him at Calais, awaiting news of his wife's 
health (he had left her ill in Dublin), and that another public 
character had declined a challenge on the plea of his daughter's 
illness. The late Chief Justice Burke thus commemorated the 
double event : 

" Two heroes of Erin, abhorrent of slaughter, 
Improved on the Hebrew command ; 
One honored his wife, and the other his daughter, 
That ' their days might be long on the land.' " 



366 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

his political opponents, which appear to have been 
culled rather in the market of Billingsgate, than in 
the flowery garden of Academe ! 

For several years after the duel with D'Esterre, 
O'Connell was almost alone in the struggle for 
Emancipation. His practice steadily increased, and 
his legal knowledge, ability and tact, united with 
wondrous art in the examination of witnesses, and 
great influence with juries (by the union of a species 
of rhetoric consisting of common sense, humour, and 
rough eloquence, cemented together by a good 
share of "Blarney"), soon made him a very success- 
ful barrister. Whenever a Catholic victim was to 
be defended or rescued, whether an Orange op- 
pressor was to be assailed and punished, O'Connell 
was in the van. The Catholics readily took him as 
their champion, and he won their gratitude by his 
services, and gained their personal attachment by a 
good humour which nothing could daunt, and a 
plain, straightforward, affectionate manner of elo- 
quence which went directly home to their hearts. 
To this hour it is a moot point whether the Irish had 
greater admiration for his talents, gratitude for his 
services, confidence in his fidelity, or attachment for 
his person. 

He continued increasing in influence for many 
years. From 1815, until he relinquished most of 
his practice in 1831, the annual income from his 
professional pursuits cannot have averaged less than 



Daniel o'conneu.. 367 

from £6000 to £8000 — an immense sum for a law- 
yer to make in Ireland. No man could make such 
an income, except one who was at once an excellent 
Nisi Prius pleader, as well as a good Crown lawyer. 
He united the highest qualifications of both. He 
oould wield at will immense power over a jury, and 
argue with a success rarely equalled, so as to reach 
the understanding of a judge. Hence, he had the 
most extraordinary versatility. You would see him 
at one o'clock joking a jury out of a verdict in the 
Nisi Prius court, or familiarly laying down cases 
for the information of the judge ; and, the next 
hour, you might behold him in the Crown court, 
defending an unhappy man accused of murder, and 
exercising a caution and prudence in his unparal- 
leled cross-examination of witnesses which would 
alike surprise and please. No man could more readily 
get the truth from a witness, or make him say only 
just as much as suits the particular point he had in 
view. 

In 1821, when George the Fourth visited Ireland, 
Mr. O'Connell made "his first appearance, by parti- 
cular desire," in the part of a courtier. He pre- 
sented a laurel crown to the monarch on his depart- 
ure, and eulogized him to the seventh heaven as 
" a real friend of old Ireland," anxious to see her 

" Great, glorious, and free, 
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea." 



368 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

He did more than this. He sacrificed his feelings, 
as a Catholic, in order to conciliate the Ascendency 
party. Intent on conciliation, he even dined with the 
Dublin Corporation, and drank their charter toast 
of intolerance,* "The pious, glorious and immortal 
memory." Concession was vain. The leopard would 
not change his spots ; and, throwing away the scab- 
bard, O'Connell dreAV the sword, and threw himself, 
body and soul, into the stormy battle of Agitation. 

In 1823, O'Connell, rinding how little was to be 
anticipated from George IV. (who, as king, forgot 
the promises he made when Prince of Wales), or- 
ganized a great plan for uniting his Catholic coun- 
trymen into an array against the laws which ex- 
cluded them from the enjoyment of their civil and 

* This celebrated toast, the drinking or refusal of which, for 
many years, was the great test of (political) Protestantism in 
Ireland, was drank on the knee, and ran thus : " The glorious, 
pious, and immortal memory of the great and good King Wil- 
liam, Prince of Orange, who saved us from Pope and Popery, 
brass money and wooden shoes. He that don't drink this toast, 
may the north wind blow him to the south, and a west wind 
blow him to the east ; may he have a dark night, a lee shore, 
a rank storm, and a leaky vessel to carry him over the ferry to 
hell ; may the devil jump down his throat with a red-hot har- 
row, that every pin may tear out his inside ; may he be rammed, 
jammed, and damned into the great gun of Athlone, and tired 
off into the kitchen of hell, where the Pope is roasted on a spit, 
and basted with the fat of Charles James Fox, while the Devil 
s ands by pelting him with Cardinals !" 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 3G9 

religious rights. He hadgiv.it difficulty in arousing 
the languid energies of the Irish people, so hopeless 
had they been for a long time. At last, the Catho- 
lic Association assumed a "local habitation and a 
name." The subscription to the somewhat aris- 
tocratical Catholic Board had been five pounds a 
year — one fifth of that amount was the payment to 
the Association; and, at last, the Catholic Kent was 
instituted on the basis of admitting contributions 
of a shilling a-year. Every subscriber to this small 
amount thereby became a member of the Associa- 
tion, and crowds eagerly joined it, on these terms, 
from all parts of Ireland. Here were agitation and 
combination. Here was money, the very sinews of 
war. Here was a fund, large in amount, annually 
augmenting, applicable to a variety of purposes con- 
nected with the assertion of the Catholic claims and 
the defence of Catholics, who thought themselves 
individually wronged or injured by their Orange 
masters. Here, with O'Connell at their head, was 
a band of leaders, most of them in the practice 
of the law, who had station, influence, audacity, 
courage, integrity, and the art of moving the multi- 
tude by voice or pen. The Government speedily 
feared, and felt, it to be an imperium in imperio. 
. Armed with avast numerical combination, strong 
in the possession of large funds, headed by able and 
fearless men, the Association assumed the duty oi 
standing between the people and the mal-adminis- 
16* 



370 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

tint ion of the law. Every local act of tyranny, in- 
tolerance and oppression was exposed, if it were not 
visitprl with exemplary punishment. The com- 
plaints of the people were heard, through the influ- 
ence of the leaders, within the very walls of the Im- 
perial Parliament. A brilliant arena was opened 
for Catholic talent, for the Association held its dis- 
cussions like a regular legislative assembly, and its 
debates were spread abroad, all over^the kingdom, 
on the wings of the press. Of the whole system 
O'Connell was the motive power — the head — the 
heart. His influence was immense. 

Such an array could not be beheld by any govern- 
ment with indifference. It was determined to put 
down the Association by act of Parliament. In 
1825, O'Connell formed one of a deputation to Eng- 
land, to make arrangements for an adjustment of 
the Catholic claims — committed the error of con- 
senting to take Emancipation clogged with "the 
wings" (that is, to State payment for the Catholic 
clergy, and confiscation of the 40s. elective fran- 
chise), but finally admitted his mistake, and his error 
of judgment was forgiven by his countrymen. The 
Association was suppressed. O'Connell, whose pol- 
icy was to baffle rather than to contest, and whose 
boast ever was that he agitated " within the law," 
allow jd the Catholic Association to dissolve itself,, 
but continued the agitation by "aggregate meet- 
ings" in nearly every county of Ireland, and by the 



DANIEL O'OONNELL. 371 

establishment of a new Catholic Association, formed 
ostensibly for purposes of charity alone. The Gov- 
ernment could do nothing against this. 

In 1826, when a general election took place, ( /Cou- 
ncil brought into unexpected operation the forces 
which he commanded. He started popular candi- 
dates in several Irish counties, and defeated the former 
members, who had always voted against the Catho- 
lics. The lesson was a striking one, but the Exe- 
cutive in Downing-street heeded it not, and declared 
unmitigated and perpetual enmity against the Ca- 
tholics. On the other hand, the Association pledged 
itself to oppose every candidate connected with the 
government. In 1828, a vacancy occurred, by Mr. 
Vesey Fitzgerald (who himself had always voted for 
Catholic Emancipation) having accepted a seat in the 
Duke of Wellington's Cabinet, and then O'Connell 
ventured the bold experiment of contesting the re- 
presentation of Clare. He was returned after a most 
severe contest — forced Wellington, by that election 
to concede Emancipation — claimed his seat under 
that concession — was refused by Manners Sutton, 
the Speaker — was re-elected for Clare* — since sat for 
Waterford, Kerry, Dublin, Kilkenny, and Cork — 
made the best speech upon the Reform Bill — sup- 
ported the Melbourne ministry when the contest 
bet/~een them and Peel came on — invariably main- 

* Mr. Grattan says, at an expense of £20,000 — an amount which 
seems incredible, as there was only a brief shadow of opposition. 



372 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

turned tie most liberal principles, and supported the 
most liberal measures — diminished, if he did not 
conquer, the dislike which England and Scotland 
felt towards him as a Catholic and Irish agitator — 
and had a parliamentary influence greater than any 
man ever before possessed, being able to count on 
the votes of forty members, who formed what is 
called the joints of his " tail." 

Had O'ConnelTs labors as an agitator ceased when 
they achieved Emancipation, no reputation could 
have stood higher. But, from 1829, he attempted 
to make " Eepeal" his party-cry. In April, 1834, 
he moved for the Eepeal of the Union. Thirty- 
eight members voted with, and five hundred and 
twenty -three against him. Only one English mem- 
ber supported him — Mr. James Kennedy, who sat 
for the small borough of Tiverton. 

The influence of O'Connell continued great, with 
the Government, as well as in Ireland, while the 
Whigs were in ofhce. But the Melbourne ministry 
broke up in the autumn of 1811, and "Othello's 
occupation" was gone when they went over to the 
opposition benches. In 1843, it is true, he made 
renewed, important and remarkable attempts to ex- 
cite Ireland — to agitate (within the law) against the 
government of which Sir Eobert Peel was the head, 
but he was prosecuted, and the Monster Trials, last- 
ing twenty-five days, and ending in his conviction 
and imprisonment, first taught his countrymen that 



DANIEL OCONNELL. s 873 

lie was not infallible nor invulnerable. His convic- 
tion was subsequently annulled by the House of 
Lords, on appeal, but the iron had entered into his 
soul, and when he resumed his seat in Parliament 
he evidently was breaking. Then followed the re- 
volt against his supremacy by the vigorous and more 
decided "Young Ireland" party, and, with failing 
health and defeated aims, he went to the Continent 
— his desire being to visit that imperial and Papal 
Eome of which he had long been the energetic and obe- 
dient servant. He died before he accomplished his 
pilgrimage ; but his heart rests in the Eternal City. 

Here it can scarcely be out of place to glance at 
O'Connell's success as a Parliamentary orator. 

In the British Par lament, where oratorical suc- 
cess is usually very difficult, Irishmen have gene- 
rally shown themselves not merely good, but even 
eloquent speakers. Edmund Burke may challenge 
mention alongside of the great Chatham— and will 
have a more permanent place of honour, because his 
speeches, admirable even as compositions, now be- 
long to the standard classics of the Anglo-Saxon 
race. Sir Philip Francis (the reputed author of 
" The Letters of Junius") was not inferior, in power 
and effect, to the younger Pitt. Kichard Brinsley 
Sheridan and George Canning nobly maintained the 
national credit, as transcendently eloquent men. 
Lord Wellesley and Henry Grrattan occupy a first 
position as great orators. In later days, assuredly 



374 BITS OF BLARNET. 

Daniel O'Co mell and Richard Lalor Sheil have not 
been surpassed by any of their rivals. Whenever 
Irish parliamentary eloquence is spoken of, William 
Conyngham Plunket cannot be overlooked, lie 
was, perhaps, the very best speaker in the British 
Parliament at any time. He had few of the ordi- 
nary characteristics of Irish eloquence. Wit he 
possessed in a high degree, but was chary in its use. 
Pathos he rarely ventured upon — though there are 
some incidental touches at once tearful and tender. 
He relied on clear arrangement of facts, logical 
closeness of reasoning, strong earnestness, remark- 
able sagacity, and the exercise of tact and common 
sense which a spirit at once strong and ardent had 
disciplined and exercised. His manner, also, grave 
and almost austere, added weight to his words of 
power. He succeeded Grattan in the leadership of 
the Catholic party in Parliament, and his speech 
(in 1821) converted nine votes from hostility to 
justice. It was on this occasion, alluding to the 
great departed who had joined in the discussions 
relative to Ireland's claims for civil and religious 
liberty, that he said — "Walking before the .sacred 
.mages of the illustrious dead, as in a public and 
solemn procession, shall we not dismiss all party 
feelings, all angry passions, all unworthy prejudices? 
I will not talk of past disputes ; I will not mingle 
in this act of national justice anything that can 
awaken personal animosity." 



DANIEL OCONNELL, 37f> 

[t was not, however, in the English legislature, 

but daring the last twenty years of the Irish Parlia- 
ment, that Irish eloquence was in its zenith. On 
one hand were Fitzgibbon and Scott (afterwards 
Lords Clare and Clonmel), Connolly, Cavendish, 

and Arthur Wolfe. On the other side was such an 
array of talent, patriotism, and eloquence as, in the 
same period of time, has never been surpassed — 
never equalled. There were Hussey Burgh and 
James Fitzgerald, Flood and G rat tan, Curran and 
Barry Yelverton, Plunket and Saurin, Parncll and 
Denis Daly, Brownlow and Saxton Perry, Foster 
and Ponsonby, Goold and Peter Burrowes, silvery- 
tongued Bushe and honest Robert Holmes. Most 
of these were lawyers, and made an exception to the 
general rule that the eloquence of the Bar and of 
the Senate are so different in character as to seem 
almost incompatible in practice. In Ireland, during 
her last days of nationality, the great cause for which 
they were contending, appeared to have animated 
the members of the bar with a spirit which dis- 
dained all narrow limits of conventionality, and ele- 
vated them above the ordinary routine of common 
life. We read, in Holy Writ, how one of the 
seraphim touched Isaiah's lips with fire, and, with 
little effort of the imagination, we may well believe 
that Patriotism, in like manner, touched the lips of 
Irishmen, during that hard struggle for the very 
existence of their notion, a+ once hallowing and 



376 BIT'S OF BLARNEY. 

purifying the words which fell from them. But 
such eloquence was only a flash amid darkness, too 
brilliant to stay, and force and fraud were evil spirits 
superior, at that time, to Truth, Virtue, and Elo- 
quence. The day may come when Ireland shall 
once again be a nation, — may the Past then and for- 
ever be a lesson and a warning. 

It is singular that, in the Irish Parliament, nearly 
all the great speakers have been lawyers. With 
few exceptions, men of law have not succeeded in 
the English Parliament. Lords Mansfield, Lynd 
hurst and Brougham, with Romilly and Follett, are 
the chief exceptions. Camden, Thurlow, Eldon, Gif- 
ford, Cottenham ; Truro, St. Leonards, Erskine, Scar- 
lett, Stowell, Tenterden, Best, and a great many 
more did not maintain, in Parliament, the reputa- 
tion they had won at the bar. Three Irishmen, 
however, albeit members of the legal profession, 
have taken the lead in the British Senate, even in 
our own time. These were Plunket, O'Connell, 
and Sheil. 

Of Plunket and Sheil there may be another occa- 
sion and opportunity of speaking. It is of O'Con- 
nell that I would record a few impressions now. 
It must be remembered that when he entered 
Parliament, in 1829, he had entered into his 
fifty -fifth year. Plunket was at least ten years 
younger when he too entered the British House of 
Commons, Sheil was little more than thirty-six 



Daniel o'connell. 377 

whei. lie took his seat. It was feared by his friends 
and hoped by his enemies that, like Erskine and 
other great advocates, O'Connell would fail in Par- 
liament. True it was that Grattan was fifty-nine 
before he first spoke in the English House of Com- 
mons — but Grattan was" one in ten thousand. Be- 
sides, he w r as all his life a parliamentary speaker, 
which is very different from being a lawyer in full 
practice also — the essentials for success at the bar 
and in the Senate being far apart. Grattan himself, 
speaking of his great rival, Flood, who had greatly 
distinguished himself in the Irish, and as greatly 
failed, in the English Parliament, said "he forgot 
that he w r as a tree of the forest, too old and too great 
to be transplanted at fifty." 

O'ConnelTs opponents confidently anticipated his 
failure. He is too much of a mob-orator, was the 
cry of one set. He will never please so refined 
an assembly as the British House of Commons ; he 
is too much of a lawyer, said another section of ill- 
wishers, and we know how perpetually law r yers fail 
in the House. His accent is dead against him, lisped 
a few others, and will be laughed at as vulgar. One 
of his most violent antagonists was Lord Eldon, be- 
fore whom he had appeared, in an appeal case before 
the Lords, when he visited London in 1825 (on the 
memorable occasion of "the Wings"); but this 
Chancellor, inimical as he was, turned round to 
Lord Wynford (then Sir W. D. Best), when the 



378 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

speech wi*S ended, and said, " What a knowledge 
of law! — how condensed, yet how clear his argu- 
ment! — how extremely gentlemanly, and even cour- 
tierly is his manner. Let him only be in the House 
once, and he will carry every thing before him." 
Many even of O'Connell's own friends doubted 
whether he could accommodate himself to the man- 
ners, fashion, habits, and restrictions of that very 
artificial assemblage, presumed to contain "the col- 
lective wisdom of the nation," but the slightest 
doubt on the subject does not appear to have cast 
its shadow into his own mind. To him, as to Lady 
Macbath, there was no such word as — fail ! Like 
Nelson, he did not know what fear was. 

His putting up for Clare Election, in 1828, was 
one of the boldest measures ever ventured on — - 
short of raising the banner of revolt against the 
government. It compelled Wellington and Peel to 
concede Catholic Emancipation — a concession un- 
gracious and ungrateful, since it was clogged with a 
clause, the result of personal spite, prohibiting O'Con- 
nell, because he had been elected in 1828, from tak- 
ing the oaths contained in the Eelief Bill of 1829. 
That prohibition sent him back to Clare for re-elec- 
tion, and he entered Parliament with his mind not 
unnaturally angry at the injustice for which he had 
been singled out as a victim. 

He took his seat, and, almost immediately, it was 
perceived that he was not to be trifled with. Na- 



Daniel o'oonnell. ;;::> 

ture had been bountiful to him. In stature tall, 
and so strongly built that it was only by seeing, 
when a man of ordinary height was by his side, how- 
much he over-topped him. Physical vigour and 
mental strength were well combined in him. Then, 
his voice — a miraculous organ, full of power, but 
not deficient, either, in mellow sweetness. His 
glance told little — but his lips were singularly ex- 
pressive, as much so as the eyes are to ordinary 
mortals. Add to this, a full consciousness of power 
— a conviction that he had been the main agent for 
opening Parliament to his hitherto prohibited co- 
religionists — that Ireland looked to him, and not 
without cause, for a great deal more — that he vir- 
tually represented, not the men of Clare only, but 
was "Member for all Ireland," — that he was a tac- 
tician, trained by thirty years of public life, — that 
he had also the practiced skill in handling all the 
available points of an argument which his profes- 
sional career had given him, — and that he then 
looked upon Emancipation only as an instalment. 
Put all these together, and it will be seen, at once, 
that the man in whom they were embodied could 
scarcely fail to make himself felt, dreaded, and much 
observed. 

In the first twelvemonth — that is, from his re- 
election in 1829, until the meeting of the new Par- 
liament in November 1830 — O'Connell disap- 
pointed a great many by playing what may be 



380 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

called a waiting game. It was expected that he 
would be perpetually speaking, upon all occasions, 
and, in that case, attempts would have been made 
to laugh, or cough, or clamor him down. He voted 
regularly, and always on the right side. In 1831, 
when the Grey ministry were in power, O'Connell, 
now strengthened by a strong and compact body of. 
Irish members pledged to work with and under him 
(their return was the result of the General Election), 
took the station in the Legislature which he main- 
tained for nearly fifteen years. During the pro- 
longed struggle for Parliamentary Eeform, one of 
the most impressive speeches in advocacy of the 
measure was O'Connell's. On all great occasions 
his voice was heard and his vote given. It cannot 
be asserted that he invariably spoke and voted as 
now, when we read the events of those days as his- 
tory, it may dispassionately be thought he should 
have done ; but he was undoubtedly an indefatigable, 
earnest, eloquent member of Parliament, through 
whose pertinacity and tact many concessions were 
made to Ireland which were calculated to serve her. 
The geniality of his nature was as unchecked in the 
Senate as it had been at the Bar, or in the Catholic 
Association. He was eminently a good-tempered 
man, and this availed him much in the House of 
Commons, where, if it so please him, a man can 
readily make himself and others uncomfortable by 
the exhibition of even a small portion of ill-temper. 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 381 

Sometimes he laughed at his opponents, but so 
good-naturedly that they also enjoyed the jest. 
Such was his cut at John Walter, proprietor of the 
TimeSy who had remained on the ministerial benches 
after his Tory friends had quitted them, lie re- 
moved, speedily enough, when O'Connell pointed 
to him as — 

" The last rose of summer, left blooming alone." 

So, when Lord Stanley (now Earl of Derby) sep- 
arating from the Whigs, started a party of his 
own, which was lamentably small, O'Connell quoted 
against him a couplet from a familiar poet — 

" Tims down thy side, romantic Ashbourne, glides 
The Derby dilly, carrying six insides." 

And so, pre-eminent over all was his parody on 
Dryden's celebrated comparison. Three Colonels 
(Perceval, Verner, and Sibthorpe) represented Sligo, 
Armagh, and Lincoln. The two first were smooth- 
faced and whiskerless as a maiden. Sibthorpe is 
" bearded like a bard." O'Connell, alluding to them 
in the House, thus hit them off, amid a general 
roar, in which the victimized trio could not refrain 
from joining — 

" Three Colonels in three distant counties born, 
Sligo, Armagh, and Lincoln did adorn. 
The first in matchless impudence surpassed, 
The next in bigotry — in both the last. 
The force of nature could no further g <), 
To beard the third she shaved the other two," 



382 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Like other politicians, O'Connell did not escj pc 
without occasional personal passages at arms. In 
one of these, with Mr. Doherty, then Irish Solicitor- 
General, in May, 1830, O'Connell may be said to have 
come off second-best. He had attacked Doherty for 
his conduct as Crown lawyer in what was called the 
Doneraile conspiracy. The whole of the Tory party 
sided with Doherty, who made a forcible defence, 
attacking his assailant in turn, and the Whigs did 
not very warmly support 0' Council, who had then 
only been a few months in Parliament. This ren- 
contre, which took place while "The Duke" was 
Premier, raised Doherty to the Chief Justiceship of 
the Common Pleas in Ireland — and led to Peel's of- 
fering him a seat in the Cabinet in 1834, and a 
Peerage in 1840. O'Connell used to say, and with 
truth, that he had placed Doherty on the Bench. 

On another occasion O'Connell was for more suc- 
cessful. This was the celebrated Bre ich of Privi- 
lege case. 

Victoria ascended the throne in June, 1837 
Shortly after there was a General Election, and a 
great many of the members returned were peti- 
tioned against. The Tories had raised a large fund 
to defray the cost of these proceedings, and it was 
called " The Spottiswoode Subscription," as Spottis- 
woode, the Queen's printer (a patent life-office of 
much emolument), acted as its treasurer. Angry 
debates arose in the House of Comrions on this 



I 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 383 

subject, and personalities were so much aid bo 
tumultuously bandied to and fro, that Mr. Aber- 
crombie, the Speaker, threatened to resign if they 
were repeated, — as if, grasping Scotchman as he 

was, he could ever have brought himself to resign 
the £6,000 a-year attached to the office ! 

The controverted elections were duly referred to 
the usual Election Committees, bal lotted for out of 
the members then in the House. These committees 
were duly sworn, as juries are, to do justice between 
man and man. But it was unhappily notorious that 
when the majority were Whigs, they almost inva- 
riably decided against Tory members, and vice versd. 
As ill luck would have it, the majority of the de- 
cisions went to unseat Liberal members. As parties 
were nearly balanced in Parliament, at that time — 
indeed the Whigs remained in office merely because 
there was a new and inexperienced sovereign who 
would have been puzzled how to act on a change of 
ministry — the Liberals complained of the decisions 
of the Election Committees. 

On February 23, 1838, Lord Maidstone, who had 
been elected for Northamptonshire, and was the 
eldest son of the intolerant Earl of Winchelsea, who 
fought a duel on the Catholic Belief Bill, with Wel- 
lington, in 1829, drew the attention of the House of 
Commons to a Breach of Privilege. He complained 
that, two days before, at a public dinner given at the 
Crown and Anchor Tavern, Mr. O'Conncll had de- 



384 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

clared that 'in the Election Committee? " Corruption 
of the worst description existed, and above all there 
was the perjury of the Tory politicians.'' Also, 
that he "was ready to be a martyr to justice and 
truth; but not to false swearing, and therefore, he 
repeated, that there was foul perjury in the Tory 
Committees of the House of Commons." 

What followed I saw, and can never forget. 
O'Connell, who had been reading (or appearing to 
read) a newspaper while Lord Maidstone was accus- 
ing him, keenly arose, sternly looked around the 
House, folded his arms, and, in his deepest tones and 
most impressive manner, said, " Sir, I did say every 
word of that — every word of that ; and I do repeat 
that I believe it to be perfectly true. Is there a man 
who will put his hand on his heart and sa}^ that it 
is not true ? Such a man would be laughed to 
scorn." 

Maidstone then gave notice of a motion condem- 
natory of O'Connell, and the discussion was ad- 
journed until the following Monday. Maidstone 
moved that O'Connell's speech was an imputation 
on the whole House, and that he be censured for it 
as a breach of privilege. O'Connell replied in a 
speech of great power, in the midst of which he was 
self-designated " The pensioned servant of Ireland," 
and plainly declared that whenever an Election 
Committee was appointed, it was known that the 
decision would be exactly according to the political 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 

majority of its members; and repeating thai he 
had spoken only the truth, and would stand by his 
words. The Agitator then retired, 

A great many members spoke, — the Wl 

making a lukewarm defence for O'Connell, instead 
of admitting and lamenting the truth. of his remarks. 
The Tories clamoured for a heavy censure. In a 
House of 517 members, out of 60S, a majority of 
nine were for the censure. Next Daniel Callaghan, 
member for Cork city, Edmund Burke Roche, mem- 
ber for Cork county, W. D. Gillon for Falkirk, and 
J. P. Somers for Sligo, severally and seriously de- 
clared that, each and all. they adopted Mr. O'Con- 
nell's words and sentiments! It was then carried 
by 298 to 85 (Lord John Eussell voting in the ma- 
jority) that the words were "a false and scandalous 
imputation on the House/' 

Next, on the motion that O'Connell be repri- 
manded in his place, an exciting debate ensued. 
Mr. Callaghan repeated his endorsement of O'Con- 
nell's imputation, and his words were taken down 
by the Clerk of the House, on the motion of Mr. 
Hume, who called on the Speaker to notice his con- 
tumacy. But the Speaker was mute. Next day, 
Mr. Eoche also repeated his full adherence to O'Con- 
nell's charge. The vote of censure was carried by 
a majority of twenty-nine. 

O'Connell duly attended in his place, was gravely 
reprimanded by the Speaker (his own particular 
" 17 



386 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

friend!), and said, when the farce was over, " Galilee 
remarked 'the world does move, after all.'' And so, 
despite the censure of this House, I repeat all I said 
before. The system I condemn reminds one of the 
Judge in Rabelais who decided cases by throwing 
three dice for the plaintiff and two for the defendant. 
I had rather take the dice-box and say ' seven's the 
main,' than take my chance on an Election Commit- 
tee of this House. I express no regret for what I 
have said. I have retracted nothing. I will retract 
nothing. I have told the truth." 

So saying, having bearded the House by strongly 
repeating his accusation, he sat down. It was con- 
sidered that he had gained a victory, and the conclu- 
sion of all was a total change and reform in the 
system of Parliamentary election committees. 

But it was in Ireland — whether in the Catholic 
Association, at an Aggregate Meeting, at a public 
dinner, or in a court of law — that O'Connell was to 
be seen " in all his glory." In Ireland his influence 
was extraordinary — not only for its vast extent, but 
for its continuance. No other public man, no mat- 
ter what the country or the age, has maintained his 
popularity, as O'Connell did, for nearly forty years. 
I think that this may be partly attributed to the 
belief, long and widely entertained by his followers, 
almost unbroken to the last, encouraged by himself, 
and generally borne out by circumstances, that he 
was above the law, that the law could not reach him. 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 387 

that he "could drive a coach and six through any 
Act of Parliament." 

In February, 1831, he was indicted and tried 
(with Tom Steele and Barrett, of The Pilot news- 
paper) for holding political meetings which the Vice- 
roy's proclamation had forbidden. They pleaded 
guilty, but as the law under which they were tried 
was allowed to expire before they were brought up 
for judgment, his prophecy, that the law could not 
reach him, was fulfilled. In 1843 he was less for- 
tunate. Three months in prison ! — that destroyed the 
prestige. 

This man was eminently endowed by nature with 
the bodily and mental qualifications for a Tribune 
of the People. In stature he was lofty, in figure 
large. His bold, good-natured face was an advan- 
tage — as were his manly appearance and bearing. 
His voice was deep, musical, sonorous and manage- 
able. Its transitions from the higher to the lower 
notes was wondrously effective. No man had a clear- 
er or more distinct pronunciation — at times, it even 
went to the extent of almost syllabizing long words. 
How lingeringly, as if he loved to utter the words, 
would he speak of " Cawtholic E-man-cec-pa-tion I" 
He rather affected a full Irish accent, on which was 
slightly grafted something of the Foigardism which, 
in his youth, had attached itself to him when he 
st idied in France. No one who noticed his capa- 
cious chest could wonder that O'Connell was able to 



388 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

speak longer than most men without pausing to take 
breath. When making a speech, his mouth was very 
expressive ; and this has been noticed as the charac- 
teristic of that feature, in Irish faces. In his eyes 
(of a cold, clear blue) there was little speculation, 
but the true Irish expression of feeling, passion and 
intellect played about his lips. Looking at him, as 
he spoke, a close observer might almost note the sen- 
timent about to come from those lips, before the 
words had utterance — -just .as we see the lightning- 
flash before Ave hear the thunder-peal. 

His eloquence was eminently characteristic. Irish- 
men, in general, have "the gift of the gab,"— that 
is, the power of expressing their sentiments in pub- 
lic with ease to themselves and to their hearers. It 
gives them little trouble to make a speech ; and this 
faculty and this facility arise, very probably, from 
the political circumstances of their country as much 
as from anything else. In England there is no 
necessity why a man should have decided political 
opinions. In Ireland no man dare be neutral. 
Persons may disagree, and do ; but they unite in 
despising and condemning the unhappy wight who 
does not belong to any party. An Irishman, in 
Ireland, must be a partisan. Being so, there is no 
earthly reason why, attending any public meeting, 
he should not be induced to take part in the pro- 
ceedings, and make a speech. Oratory is a very 
catching thing, — listening begets the desire to be 



1 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 389 

listened to, in turn ; and, once that a man has heard 
his own voice in public, depend on it he will be 
anxious to hear it again. 

Self-possession, which is "half the battle" in pub- 
lic life, is an essential in public speaking. However, 
it is not the essential. There must be a copious flow 
of words — a happy and rapid selection of language 
— an earnestness of manner — a knowledge of hu- 
man character — and, above all, a considerable de- 
gree of information, with a certain portion of the 
" imagination all compact," which breathes fervour 
and poetry into the spoken speech. Great is the 
orator's power. He can touch the human heart — he 
can move the secret springs of action — he can sway 
the popular will as he pleases — he can comfort the 
afflicted, infuse hope into the oppressed, alarm the 
oppressor, and make ill-directed Power and Might 
tremble on their lofty thrones. 

Ireland has been particularly profuse in her con- 
tribution of eminent orators. Burke, Canning, 
Plunket, Grattan, Sheil, Wellesley and Curran, stand 
pre-eminent on the roll ; but I doubt whether 
O'Connell, when the length of his reign is consider- 
ed, as well as the great extent of his influence, de- 
rived chiefly from his power as a speaker, was not 
greater than any of these great orators. Pie had less 
wit than Canning — less imagination than Curran — 
less philosophy than Burke — less rhetoric than 
Sheil — less pure eloquence than Plunket — less clas- 



390 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

sical expression than Wellesley — less pathos than 
Grattan; but lie had more power than any of them. 
There was wonderful force in his language. And 
when addressing an Irish audience, there was such 
an alternation of style — now rising to the loftiest, 
and now subsiding to the most familiar — that he 
carried all hearts with him, and those who listened 
seemed as if under the spell of an enchanter, so com 
pletely did he move them as he pleased. Judging by 
their effect, O'Connell's speeches must be considered 
as among the best, if not the very best, of the time 
and country. 

O'Connell's versatility as a speaker was wonder- 
ful. He was " all things to all men." In a Court of 
Law he would often joke a jury into his view of the 
case, and when this did not succeed, would con- 
vince them by subtle argument, bold declamation, 
and a natural eloquence. At a political meeting, 
where he had to address a multitude, they would 
alternately smile or get enraged, as he jested with 
or excited their feelings. In Parliament, which he 
did not enter until he was fifty -four years old, he 
generally was more calm, more careful, more sudued, 
more solicitous in his choice of words, and more vig- 
ilant in restraining the manner of delivering them. 

The great secret of his power, as a speaker, was 
his earnestness. He ever had a great object in view, 
and he always applied himself, with a strong and 
earnest mind, to achieve that object. Whenever he 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 891 

pleased, lie could rise to the greatest height of elo- 
quence; but he preferred, when speaking to the 
people, to use language which each of them could 
understand. lie varied his speeches, too, with bad i 
nage and jokes, which, though merely humourous, 
made his audience smile, and keep them in good 
temper with each other, with themselves, and with 
him. The Irish, who thronged to listen to him, 
went to be amused as well as to be harangued. Nor 
did he disappoint them. I may illustrate what I 
mean by giving an example of one of his familiar 
illustrations. 

In 1827, during the time of what was called " The 
New Eeformation," in Ireland, O'Connell made a 
speech at the South Chapel, in Cork. It contained 
the following passage, after a very elaborate denial 
of the assumed conversions which the " New He- 
formation" gentry had boasted of: — "They remind 
me, gentlemen, of a Frenchman who waited on Lord 
Kenmare, and offered to drain the lakes of Killarney, 
which would restore a great quantity of arable land, 
Lord Kenmare happened to think that he had land 
enough, and civilly declined having his property de- 
prived of the beautiful lakes, its proudest ornament. 
The Frenchman, however, being one of those who 

*Do good by stealth, and blush to find It fame,' 

persisted in his fancy, and accordingly rose at break 
of day to drain the lake. And, boys, how do yon 



392 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

think lie was doing it? Why, lie was baling it 
out with his hat! (Great laughter.) Now, there 
are seven millions of Catholics in Ireland — the New 
Eeformation folk do not boast of more than six or 
seven conversions, or perversions, in the week — so 
that, allowing (which is impossible, where there are 
bright eyes and warm hearts such as flash and throb 
around me, in this large assembly) that the Catho- 
lics of Ireland will not increase in the meantime, 
there must, at this rate, be a million of weeks elapse 
before all of them are drained out by conversion. 
(Cheers.) Boys, these Eeformation gentry remind 
me mightily of the Frenchman baling out the Lake 
of Killarney with his hat!" 

It was with pleasant, homely jokes like this — yet 
each having a tendency to work out the argument — 
that O'Connell was wont to amuse the Irish. In poin t 
of wit, I doubt whether O'Connell's little Frenchman 
be not as original a character as Sydney Smith's far- 
famed Mrs. Partington. 

O'Connell's friends lamented, and with ample 
cause, at his aptness to abuse the license of public 
speech. He was very fond of bestowing nicknames 
on his opponents, and of applying offensive epithets 
to them.* As early as July, 1808, at a meeting of 

* O'Connell had high judicial authority for the use of bad 
language. Sir Archibald Macdonald (who was Chief Baron 
of the English Court of Exchequer, from 1793 to 1813) once 
told Mr. Fletcher Norton, afterwards Speaker of the House or 



t>ANIEL o'CONNKU,. 893 

the famous Catholic Board, he had commenced that 
sort of spealing — which lowers him who adopts it 
rather than those against whom it is levelled. He 
then said "the present administration are the per- 
sonal enemies of the Catholic cause ; jet if the 
Catholics continue loyal, firm, and undivided, they 
have little to fear from the barren petulence of the 
ex-advocate, Percival, or the frothy declamations of 
the poetaster, Canning — they might with equal con- 
tempt despise the upstart pride of the Jenkinsons, 
and with more than contempt the pompous inanity of 
that Lord Castlereagh, who might well be permitted 
to hate the country that gave him birth, to her own 
annihilation." In the same vulgar spirit he spoke of 
Cobbett as "a comical miscreant,' 1 and declared that 
the Duke of Wellington was "a stunted corporal," 
and maintained that Disraeli, whose Jewish descent 
is well known, must be a lineal descendant of the 
impenitent thief who was crucified, when the great 
sacrifice of Salvation was consummated at Calvary. 
Once Only, as far as my memory serves, O'Con- 
nell gave a nickname, with point and wit in the 
application. He was denouncing the present Earl 
of Derby, who was then a member of the House of 
Commons, and filled the office of Chief Secretary of 
Ireland. In some way Stanley had taken official 

Commons, that he was a *• lazy, indolent, evasive, shuffling, 
plausible, artful, mean, confident, cowardly, poor, pitiful, sneak- 
ing-, and abject creature." 

17* 



894 BITS OF BLARNEY 

notice of the "sayings and doings" of O'Oonnell, 
whereupon the Agitator declared that, from that 
time, he must be called "Shave-beggar Stanley." 
Amid roars of laughter (for this was at a public 
meeting in Dublin), O'Oonnell proceeded to justify 
the nom de guerre. It was the custom, he said, that 
barbers' apprentices should learn their business by 
shaving beggars, who, as the job was done for no- 
thing, could scarcely complain if a blunt razor gave 
them pain, or an unskilful hand cut the skin, as 
well as the beard. So, he added, with British 
statesmen. They were first sent over to Ireland, to 
get their hand in, and when that was accomplished 
they were considered to have sufficient dexterity to 
be placed in office in England. He argued, by 
analogy, that the political, like the actual "shave- 
beggar," gave a good deal of pain, and inflicted 
many cuts, which the Irish, like the pauper shave- 
lings, were compelled to submit to, without complaint. 
From that day until the day he left Ireland, Lord 
Stanley was always spoken of, by the Irish Liberals, 
with the prefix of " shave-beggar" to his surname ! 

Two things, through life, O'Connell strenuously af- 
firmed and inculcated. First, that the man who com- 
mitted outrage supplied the enemy with a weapon to be 
used against the country. Second, that Ireland would 
never be prosperous until the Union was repealed. 

He did not join the United Irishmen in 1798, — 
not because he, like them, had not an aspiration for 



DANIEL CrCONtfELL. 395 

the political independence of his country, out be- 
cause he disapproved of their mode of striving for it, 
by force. From first to last he was opposed to vio- 
lence. The "Young Ireland" schism, at Concilia- 
tion Hall, which so much annoyed him, during the 
last eighteen months of his career, was caused by 
his resistance to the doctrine of "physical force." 

As to the Union — it is only just to say, that 
O'Connell's first public effort was against that meas- 
ure. His maiden speech, delivered on January 
13th, 1800, at a Catholic meeting, in Dublin, un- 
equivocally condemned the Union. The Kesolutions 
adopted by the meeting, drawn up by O'Connell, 
declared the proposed incorporate Union to be, "in 
fact, an extinction of the liberty of Ireland, which 
would be reduced to the abject condition of a prov- 
ince, surrendered to the mercy of the Minister and 
Legislature of another country, to be bound by their 
absolute will, and taxed at their pleasure by laws, 
in the making of which Ireland would have no effi- 
cient participation whatever!" During the struggle 
for Emancipation, as well as from that era until his 
death, O'Connell always declared that he would not 
be satisfied with less than " the Repeal." He never 
cushioned, never concealed that such was his object. 
T mention this, because it has been said that, "hav- 
ing got Emancipation, he ought not to have gone 
for Repeal." As a matter of policy, perhaps, Ireland 
would now be better off if the Repeal agitation had 



396 BITS OF BLARNKY. 

not taken place; but it is indisputable that from 
1800 to 1846, O'Connell declared that he would not 
be satisfied with less than " the Repeal." 

Here it may be well to notice the questio vexata of 
the famous " O'Connell Rent." The amount has not 
been exactly ascertained, but it is believed to have va- 
ried from 10,000/. to 20,000?. a year. It commenced 
after Emancipation was granted, and was continued 
until 1846, when, from the pressing wants of the 
Irish, it was announced that Mr. O'Connell wished 
it to be discontinued until they could better afford 
to pay it. Here it may be best to give Mr. O'Con- 
nell's own apology, in a letter to Lord Shrewsbury, 
in 1812. He said, " I will not consent that my claim 
to 'the Rent' should be misunderstood. That claim 
may be rejected, but it is understood in Ireland. 
My claim is this : — For more than twenty years be- 
fore Emancipation, the burthen of the cause was 
thrown upon me. I had to arrange the meetings — 
to prepare the resolutions — to furnish replies to the 
correspondence — to examine the case of each person 
complaining of practical grievances — to rouse the 
torpid — to animate the lukewarm — to control the 
violent and inflammatory — to avoid the shoals and 
breakers of the law — to guard against multiplied 
treachery — and at all times to oppose, at every peril, 
the powerful and multitudinous enemies of the cause. 
To descend to particulars : At a -period when my 
minutes counted by the guinea — when my emolu- 



DANIEL O'.CONNELL. 897 

ments were limited only by the extent of my phys 
ical and waking powers — when my meals were 
shortened to the narrowest space, and my sleep re- 
stricted to the earliest hours before dawn; at that 
period, and for more than twenty years, there was 
no day that I did not devote from one to two hours 
(often more) to the working out of the Catholic 
cause ; and that without receiving, or allowing the 
offer of a ly remuneration, even for the personal ex- 
penditure incurred in the agitation of the cause 
itself. For years I bore the entire expenses of a 
Catholic agitation, without receiving the contribu- 
tions of others to a greater amount than seventy-four 
pounds in the whole. Who shall repay me for the 
years of my buoyant youth and cheerful manhood? 
Who shall repay me for the lost opportunities of 
acquiring professional celebrity ; or for the wealth 
which such distinction would ensure?" 

There is considerable force in this. But O'Con- 
nell's character, out of Ireland, would have stood 
higher, had he not received "the Kent." It was 
often alleged, by his adherents, as a set-off, that 
Grattan had also been remunerated by his country- 
men. But the cases were not parallel. In 1782, 
Grattan, almost single-handed, had achieved the 
Independence of Ireland, by obtaining the recogni- 
tion of the principle that " the Crown of England is 
an Imperial Crown, but that Ireland is a distinct 
Kingdom, with a Parliament of her own, the sole 



?98 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Legislature thereof." lie had accomplished a blood- 
less Revolution. He had thrown himself into po- 
litical life, abandoning the profession on which rested 
nearly his whole worldly dependence. A grant of 
£100,000 was proposed to him in the Irish Parlia- 
ment, " to purchase an estate, and build a suitable 
mansion, as the reward of gratitude by the Irish 
nation, for his eminent services to his country." 
It was intended as a mark of national gratitude to a 
nation's Liberator. So unanimous was the feeling 
that, on the part of the Viceroy, a member of the 
Government offered "as part of the intended grant 
to Mr. Grattan, the Viceregal Palace in the Phoenix 
Park [Dublin], to be settled on Mr. Grattan and his 
heirs for ever, as a suitable residence for so merito- 
rious a person." Grattan's own impulse was to re- 
fuse the grant. His services had been rendered 
without expectation or desire of reward. But his 
private fortune was so inadequate to his public po- 
sition that he must retire from politics or become a 
placeman under the Crown. The grant would give 
him an independent position. He consented to ac- 
cept half of the proffered amount (£50,000), and 
determined under no circumstances to take office. 
He was, ever after, the retained servant of the na- 
tion. Yet, high as he stood, he did not escape con- 
tumely. Even Henry Flood, his rival, publicly 
said, in a Parliamentary controversy, "I am not a 
mendicant patriot, who was bought by my countrv 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 399 

for a sum of money, and then sold nvy country to 
the Minister for prompt payment." 

O'Connell's "Kent" was estimated as yielding 
from £10,000 to £20,000 a year — thrice the amount 
probably, that he could have realized at the bar, had 
he not devoted his time to politics. It was duly paid 
for nearly twenty years. Thus O'Connell received, 
in this annuity from his party, about five times as 
much as the Irish Parliament had given to Grattan. 
Besides, since 1825, when Derrynane became his by 
the death of his uncle, O'Connell's landed, property 
was not less than £4,000 a year. The most potent 
objection to "the Rent" was that, collected year 
after year, it rendered its recipient liable to the im- 
putation of keeping up Agitation in order to col- 
lect the Rent. 

When O'Connell's uncle died, in 1825, at a very 
advanced age, (he was several years past ninety,) the 
news reached O'Connell when he was on circuit, at 
Limerick. He hastened to Kerrj^ to attend the 
funeral, and did not again appear in court until the 
trials were proceeding in Cork. I had taken my seat, 
as a reporter, on the very day he made his appear- 
ance, attired in full mourning. Setting immediately 
under him, I heard one of the counsel congratulate 
him on his accession to his uncle's large estate. " I 
had to wait for it a long time," said O'Connell. " If 
this had happened twenty years ago, what would I 
now have been ? A hard-living, sporting, country 



4.00 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

gentleman, content with my lot. As it is, I have 
had to struggle. I have succeeded ; and look how 
bright are now the prospects of Ireland ! I thank 
God that I had to struggle, since it has placed them 
as they are now ." 

To sum up the character of O'Coimell's' political, 
essentially different from his forensic, eloquence, I 
need not say more than that he put strong words 
into fitting places. No man had a greater or more 
felicitous command of language ; no man cared less 
how his words were marshalled. Many of his 
speeches are 'models of the truest eloquence, and 
perhaps he was the first Irishman, of modern days, 
who made a decided hit in the Commons, as a sound 
and eloquent speaker, entering that House at the 
mature age of fifty. Powers such as his commanded 
attention ;— but, in general, he spoke better in Ireland, 
among his own people, than in England. Yet who 
can forget his magnificent oration in favour of the 
Keform Bill ? Who can forget the later, and briefer, 
but not less stirring speech, which he delivered, as a 
member of the Anti-Corn -law League, on his first 
visit to London, after the reversal of the Monster- 
Meetings' sentence of imprisonment. 

In sarcasm O'Connell was unequalled. I shall 
give an instance of quiet sarcasm which I think in- 
imitable. In his domestic relations O'Connell was 
peculiarly happy. His marriage with his cousin 
Mary, was one of pure affection on both sides, and 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. iOl 

their love continued to the last, as warm as it had 
commenced in their youthful clays.* John O'Con- 
nell, in 1846, writing of his mother, who was not 
long dead, said, with as much beauty as truth, "We 
can say no more than that doubting, she confirmed 
him — desponding, she cheered him on — drooping, 
she sustained him — her pure spirit may have often 
trembled, indeed, as she beheld him exposed to a 
thousand assaults, and affronting a thousand dan- 
gers ; but she quailed not, she called him not back. 
She rejoiced not more in his victories over them, 
than she would have heartily and devotedly shared 

* In 1802, O'Connell married his cousin, the daughter of Dr. 
O'Connell, of Tralee. By this lady he had four sons and three 
daughters. Two of the sons are now [1855] in Parliament. 
Maurice, the eldest, was a barrister ■, but never distinguished him- 
self either as a lawyer or a politician. Morgan was for some 
time in the Austrian service, and distinguished himself as a gal- 
lant officer. His " affair of honour " with Lord Alvanley showed 
cool determination and honourable feeling. Mr. John O'Con- 
nell, who tried to take his father's place in Conciliation Hall, as 
Eepeal Leader, has displayed little of the talent and tact which 
distinguished the Liberator. The youngest son, Daniel, is a very 
commonplace person. It is usually said, that the children of 
a great man rarely arrive at eminence, and the limited talents of 
O'Connell's sons keep up the proverb in full force, as far as he 
and they are concerned : 



'Few men achieve the praise of their great sirea, 
But most their sires disgrace," 



402 BITS OF BLARNET. 

with and soothed him in the sufferings, in the ruin, 
that might have come upon him had he failed and 
been overthrown." On the other hand, the Marquis 
of Anglesey, in 1831, as Viceroy of Ireland, had 
(VConnell prosecuted for an imputed breach of the 
law. The Marquis had seduced the first wife of the late 
LordCowle} r , and married her after he was divorced 
from his wife, and Lady Cowley (then Mrs. Henry 
Wellesley) from her husband. O'Connell, com- 
menting, at a public meeting in Dublin, on Lord 
Anglesey's conduct to him said, " This prosecution 
has cost my wife what none of my transactions ever 
cost her — a tear for me. Does Lord Anglesey know 
the value of a virtuous woman's tear?" 

O'Oonnell's attempts at authorship were not very 
successful. His letters to the " Hereditary bonds- 
men" were diffuse and declamatory. They were 
full of repetitions, putting the points of a case in a 
variety of phases, but they were by no means equal 
to the force, power, and nervous eloquence of his 
speeches. He was eminently an extemporaneous 
speaker, and, like Fox, appeared to more advantage 
as an orator than a writer. Yet many of his letters 
contain true eloquence. He hit hard, and could be 
terse when he pleased. Who can forget the allitera- 
tive satire of the three words "base, bloody, and 
brutal," as applied to the Whigs? 

His only substantive and independent work was 



DANIEL O' CONN ELL. 403 

Vol. I. of "A Memoir on Ireland, Native and Sax- 
on," published early in 1843. This book was dedi- 
cated to the Queen, in order, as the Preface stated, 
" that the Sovereign of these realms should under- 
stand the real nature of Irish history ; should be 
aware of how much the Irish have suffered from 
English misrule ; should comprehend the secret 
springs of Irish discontent; should be acquainted 
with the eminent virtues which the Irish have ex- 
hibited in every phasis of their singular fate; and, 
above all, should be intimately acquainted with the 
confiscations, the plunder, the robber}^, the domestic 
treachery, the violation of all public faith, and of 
the servility of treaties, the ordinary wholesale 
slaughters, the planned murders, the concerted 
massacres, which have been inflicted upon the Irish 
people by the English Government." This one sen- 
tence will sufficiently indicate the character of the 
work. O'Connell further stated, in his preface, that 
" there cannot happen a more heavy misfortune to 
Ireland than the prosperity and power of Great 
Britain." He endeavoured to justify this assertion, 
by adding that "justice to Ireland" had never been 
granted except when Great Britain was in difficul- 
ties. The work brought the " proofs and illustra- 
tions " of British misrule in Ireland down to the 
Kestoration. A second volume was to have carried 
them down to the present period, but it never was 
published, Nor has Literature nor History sus- 



40-i BITS OF BLARNEY. 

tain ed any loss, — unless it was much superior to the 
first volume. The seven opening chapters, rapidly 
sketching the history of English dominion in Ireland 
from 1172 to 1840, are not devoid of a certain degree 
of eloquence, but is anti-English to a degree. The 
historical " proofs and illustrations," are simply state- 
ments from partisan writers, with connecting com- 
ments by O'Connell. 

It was as a lawyer that O'Connell achieved his 
first distinctions. His success at the bar was assur- 
ance to his countrymen of his general ability. But, 
of late years, Mr. O'Connell was so exclusively before 
the public as a legislator, that he was forgotten as a 
barrister. Yet, in the opinion of many, (among whom 
are those who have known him long and well,) it 
was in the latter character that the peculiar idiosyn- 
crasy of the man was fully developed — that his very 
rare and peculiar talents were fully displayed. 

Many men have obtained eminence at the Irish 
bar, but it has been for some one peculiar merit. 
Thus, Harry Deane Grady was remarkable for the 
knowing manner in which he conducted a cross-ex- 
amination. By that he alternately wheedled and 
frightened a witness into admissions which were as 
opposite to his evidence in chief as light is from 
darkness. Thus, Chief Justice Bushe, while at the 
bar, was distinguished for that classic eloquence by 
which admiring juries were seduced, and admiring 
judges were delighted. Pity that his elevation to 



405 

the bencli should have extinguished this noble ora- 
tory. Thus, Curran was renowned for " that sar- 
castic levity of tongue " which solicited a contest 
with those elevated in rank above himself. Thus, 
Shiel was remarkable for introducing a style of 
speaking — full of antithetical brilliancies — which re- 
minds us of the flashing speeches of the most dis- 
tinguished advocates of France. Thus, Serjeant 
(now Judge) Perrin was almost unrivalled in thread- 
ing through the intricacies of an excise case. Thus, 
George Bennett won fame by his clear and plausible 
method of stating a case. Thus, Devon shire Jack- 
son (now a Judge) was excellent in taking excep- 
tions to the form of an indictment. Thus, the late 
Eecorder Waggett (of Cork) put that seeming of 
right into a case, by which trusting jurymen are so 
often deceived. But there was only one man at the 
Irish bar who. more or less, united the excellencies 
of all whom I have named. He was as good at 
cross-examination as Harry Grady — he could rise 
with, the occasion, and be eloquent as Bushe — he 
could sport the biting sarcasm of Curran — he even 
ventured on the antitheses of Shiel (though he sel- 
dom meddled with such sharp-edged weapons) — he 
was a match for Perrin in the excise courts — he 
could state a case plainly and plausibly as Bennett 
— he was as good a lawyer as Jackson, and could 
appeal to " the reports " with as much success — and, 
like Waggett (against w r hom, in the Munster Courts, 



406 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

he was often pitted), lie could show his case to be 
one of the utmost seeming right, his client, like the 
late Queen, of virtuous memory, to be clear as "un- 
sunned snow." The man who combined all these 
apparently dissimilar qualifications — the man whom 
universal consent named as the best general lawyer 
in Ireland — the man to whom Orange clients inva- 
riably ran with their briefs (a confidence equally 
honourable to clients and lawyer), was O'Connell. 

By far the best account of O'Connell, in his dif- 
ferent phases as a lawyer, is that in the "Sketches 
of the Irish Bar." Its essence is contained in the 
little sentence — "Every requisite for a barrister of 
all work is combined in him ; some in perfection, all 
in sufficiency." 

An anonymous writer in an English paper has 
given this reminiscence of O'Connell : " I recollect at 
the spring assizes of I think it was '27, walking into 
the county court-house of Limerick. O'Connell was 
retained in a record then being heard, and with him 
on the same side was his son Maurice, who was 
bred to his father's profession, though he has since 
ceased to follow it. It was a cold day, and both 
wore huge cloth cloaks : the Agitator's right arm 
was thrown very affectionately round his son's 
neck, who, seemingly used to these public exhibi- 
tions of paternal fondness, took it very composedly. 
There was a rough-and-ready looking peasant at the 
moment under examination: in lieu of the ordinary 



I)ANIEL o'oiNNKI.L. 407 

box used in most English courts, he was seated in a 
chair in the centre of the table between the fires of 
the counsel on either side ; his shaggy hair and un- 
shorn beard, his shirt collar open, the knees of his 
small clothes in the same free and easy state, and 
one stocking fallen so as to leave a portion of his 
embrowned and hirsute leg bare ; he had the chair 
partially turned round, so as to present a three- 
quarter front to O'Connell, who was raking him 
with a cross-examination, which elicited laughter 
from every person in the court, including the wit- 
ness himself, who, with his native freedom, impu- 
dence, and humour, was almost a match for the 
Agitator. The Agitator's face was beaming with 
fun, and he seemed very well disposed to show off, 
as if conscious that his auditors expected something 
from him. The country fellow, too, appeared to 
think there were laurels to be earned in the en- 
counter, for he played away with all his might, and 
though he failed repeatedly in his attempts to be 
witty, he was always sure to be impudent. He 
waxed gradually more familiar, until at length he 
called the learned counsel nothing but ' Dan ; ' it 
was, ' Yes, Dan,' or ' No, Dan,' or ' Arrah, 
you're not going to come over me so easily, Dan.' 
Dan, to do him justice, enjoyed the joke, and hu- 
moured the witness in such a manner as at ",ength to 
throw the fellow off his guard, and lead him into a 
maze of contradictions notwithstanding his shrewd- 



408 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

ness. O'Coimell showed the utmost adroitness, and 
a thorough knowledge of the Irish peasant charac- 
ter, which is perhaps in no place so well acquired 
as in a provincial court. I cannot this moment re- 
collect any single repartee which is worth repeating, 
but it was the manner, the brogue, the laughing 
eye, the general and humourous tone of the whole 
examination, and perhaps the very spectacle of 
O'Gonnell himself trying legally to entrap and upset 
the veracity of one of his own "fine peasantry," 
which gave that peculiar interest and pleasantry to 
the scene. Nothing could surpass the seeming en- 
joyment which the country people took in the ex- 
amination ; and as the Agitator would throw off 
now and again one of his broad flashes of humour 
in the "keen encounter of their wits," and the wit- 
ness would fire back some jocular effort at equivo- 
cation, you'd hear buzzed around, 'Bravo, Dan,' 
1 Dan's the boy,' or some such phrase of approbation, 
which it was out of the question to suppress. 
Blackburn,* then, I think, the Attorney-General, 
was on the bench, having taken the circuit for some 
judge who was unwell ; and though a dark and stern 
man, he was compelled to give way to the general fit 
of pleasantry in which the whole court indulged." 
O'Connell's business, on circuit as well as in the 

* Afterwards Chief-Justice of the Queen's Bench, whence, in 
1852, he was raised to the Chancellorship of Ireland, which he 
retained during the nine months of the Derby Administration. 



409 

Four Courts of Dublin, was very great. On circuit, 
it was so overpowering that, except on very im- 
portant cases, he could not read his briefs, when em- 
ployed to defend prisoners. The attorney for the 
defence used to condense the leading facts, and set 
them down on a single sheet of foolscap ; and O'Con- 
nell would peruse and master this abstract during 
the speech of the counsel for the prosecution, relying 
on his own skill in cross-examination of witnesses, 
and his own power with the jury. Like Belial, he 
" could make the worse appear the better reason," as 
many an acquitted culprit had cause to know and 
thank him for. 

Let me close this sketch with a glance of O'Con- 
nell, as I have often seen him, in an Irish Court of 
Law. There he was to be met " in all his gloi-y." 
As I write, the shadows of long years roll away, 
and every thing appears as vivid and life-like as it 
was at that time. 

To have seen O'Connell in the Law Courts of 
Dublin, was to have seen him not exactly as him- 
self. Before the judges, and in the capital of the 
kingdom, a certain etiquette is preserved, very deco- 
rous and proper, no doubt, but very chilling also. 
It is on circuit that you best can see the Irish bar, 
as they really are, and it is on circuit, also, that an 
observer may ad\ <mtageously study the character of 
the Irish people. Leave the chilling atmosphere of 
the Four Courts, give the reins to imagination, and 
18 



410 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

sit, with me, in the Crown Conrts of Cork, as I have 
sat in bygone years. To give something like reality 
to my sketch, I shall write as if I still were in the 
year 1827, when O'Connell and the rest whom J 
have to name were al/~ T e and flourishing. 

"What a difference between this court and that of 
a circuit court in England ! Look around you : — 
there stands not a single female in the Irish court. 
To attend there, with the chance of having it ever 
hinted that delicacy requires their absence, would 
ill suit the modest precision of the fair dames of Ire- 
land. Nor do I think that the course of justice suf- 
fers from the absence of the fair sex. What business 
have ladies in a court of justice? Do they want in- 
formation as to the trials ? — they can see them re- 
ported in " those best possible instructors," the news- 
papers. Do they want to see the manner in which 
justice is administered ? — if they will be so curious, 
and if that curiosity must be gratified, let them come 
once and no more. As it is, the English courts 
have female "tagers, who attend day after day, and 
listen to arguments which they cannot comprehend. 
I suspect that their chief design is to show off; 
they come to see, but they also come ' to be seen." 
The only preventive would be to enforce their at- 
tendance; when, if they be trae women, the spirit 
of opposition will make them remain at home ! 

Whatever be the cause, there is a non-attendance 
of females at the Irish courts of law. The galleries 



)AN1EI, tuNNKLL. 411 

are filled with rough-coated and rough-faced folks; 
some, who have not visited the city sin^e the last 
assizes — some, who have relatives to be tried — some, 
out on bail, and honourably come to take their own. 
trial — all, even to the mere looker-on, deeply inter- 
ested in the proceedings; for the Irish, from the 
highest to the lowest degree, are fond of the forms 
of justice. Of the reality they have hitherto got but 
little ; but they like to see that little administered 
with the due formalities of the law. 

The judge enters the court, and takes his seat on 
the bench. You ask, with astonishment, u When 
will the barristers come ?" Why, there, do you not see 
his lordship rise, and make an obeisance to the gen- 
tlemen who sit in the box above us ? These are the 
barristers. You may seem as unbelieving as you 
choose, but such is the case. The fact L, and I should 
have mentioned it before, when Irish barristers go on 
the circuit* they do not burthen themselves with wigs 
or gowns — forensic paraphernalia, to which their 
legal brethren on the English side of the Channel 
attach such infinite importance, that jou might fancy 
they thought all wit and wisdomf to be attached to 
them. You can scarcely imagine a more unformal 
or unceremonious court than that to which I have 
introduced you. The attorneys sit round the table, 

*I write of 1827. I know not what may be the practice now. 
f '* The wisdom's in the wig." — Old S(.ng. 



4i2 HITS of blauneV. 

mingled with the " gentlemen of the press," the bar- 
risters are in the boxes immediately over the attor- 
nies, and. the audience sit or stand where and how 
they can. 

There is a pause — for a great murder trial is to 
come on — O'Connell has just been engaged for the 
defence — is occupied in the other court, and the 
judge must wait until he can make his appearance. 
During this pause you see a familiarity between the 
bench and the bar which seems strange to your 
English eyes. Yet, after all, what is it? Will the 
laws be a whit less honestly administered or advo- 
cated because the judge and one of the lawyers 
(Chief r>aron O'Grady and Recorder Waggett) are 
laugh 1 ' ng together ? Depend ^n it, that, if the op- 
portunity comes, the judge will fling out one of his 
bitter sarcasms against the barrister, and I know 
little of the barrister if he does not retort — if he cr^i ! 

A bustle in the court. Does O'Connell come ? 
No ; but a message from him, with the intimation 
that the trial may go on, and he will " drop in " in 
half an hour. The clerk of the j:>cace reads the in- 
dictmant — the murderer pleads "Not Guilty," 
stands in the dook with compressed lips, and burst- 
ing veins, and withering frown, and scowling eyes — 
a fit subject for the savage pencil of Spagnaletto. 

While the indictment is reading, a very dandified 
" middle-aged young gentleman/' attired in a blue 
coat, with enormous brass buttons, a crimson silk 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 413 

neckcloth, and a most glaring pair of buckskins, 
lumps on th ) table, makes way across it with a 
"hop, stop and jump," and locates himself in a box 
directly under the judge. You inquire, who is that 
neophyte? — the answer is, Carew Standish O'Grady, 
the registrar* of the circuit, barrister-at-law, and 
nephew to the judge. You turn up your e} T es in 
wonder — the prothonotary of an English court 
would scarcely sport such a fox-hunter's garb. 

The trial commences. Serjeant Goold states the 
case — advantageously for the prisoner, for the learned 
Serjeant has so defective an utterance that he is 
scarcely audible even to the reporters below him. 
But his serjeantcy gives him that precedence at the 
bar, on account of which the chief conduct of Crown 
prosecutions devolves to him. Meanwhile the Chief 
B^ron turns to the High Sheriff, and cracks jokes ; 
his hopeful nephew, less ambitious, produces a bag 
and some salt, and merely — cracks nuts. 

The opening is over — the chief witness (probably 
an approver or King's evidence) is brought on the 
table — he is sworn, and attempts to baffle justice by 
kissing his thumb instead of the book. There is a 
dead silence in the court ; for it is felt that the mo- 
ment is awful with the fate of a fellow-creature. 



* It may bj noticed that, in New York, the Registrar is called 
the Register — the name of the book being applied to the man 
who has th< office of keeping* it. 



414 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Hark! a shout outside, — O'Connell comes. He has 
just been successful for an Orangeman against a 
Catholic; but what does that matter ? The people 
do justice to his merit ; so he succeeds, what care 
they against whom ? 

Another pause — a buzz in the court — " quite a 
sensation," as a dandy might exquisitely exclaim — 
the prisoner's eyes brightens up with the gleam of 
hope — he sees O'Connell, at last, seated among the 
barristers. What ! is that O'Connell ? that stalwart, 
smiling, honest-looking man? The same. Never 
did a public man assume less pretension to personal 
appearance. Yet, if you look closely, you may ob- 
serve that he does anything but neglect the graces. 
His clothes are remarkably well made, the tie of his 
cravat is elaborate, his handsome eye-glass is so dis- 
posed that it can be seen as well as used, and his 
" Brutus" (for 't would be heinous to utter the word 
" w ig") gives an air of juvenility which his hilarious 
manners fully confirm. 

Until this moment of his entering the court, he 
knows nothing of the case — he has not yet received 
a brief. Mr. Daltera (you will remember that the 
scene is in Cork — the time 1827), the Lame attorney, 
hands him a bulky bri?f, (which he puts, unread, 
into the bag,) and an abstract of the case, written on 
one sheet of paper. His blue eyes calmly glance 
over this case — he takes in, at that glance, all its 
bearings, and he quietly listens to the evidence of 



DANIEL O'CONNBLL. 415 

die accomplice The cross-examination commences. 
Every eye is watchful — every ear on the qui vive — ■ 
every man m conrt stretches forward to see the battle 
between "the Counsellor 1 ' and "the witness." You 
may see the prisoner with an eager glance of ex- 
pectation — the witness with an evident sense of the 
coming crisv). The battle commences with anything 
but seriousness ; O'Connell surprises the witness by 
his good humour and instantly sets him at ease. He 
coaxes out of him a full confession of his own un- 
worthiness, — he tempts him, by a series of facetious 
questions, into an admission of his " whole course 
of life," — in a word, he draws from his lips an auto- 
biography, in which the direst crimes are mingled 
with an occasional relief of feeling or of fun. The 
witness seems to exult in tho "bad eminence" on 
which his admissions exalt him. He joins in, the 
laugh at the quaintness of his language, — he scarcely 
shrinks from the universal shudders at the enormity 
of his crimes. By degrees he is led to the subject 
of the evidence he has just given, as an accom- 
plice, — the coil is wound round him imperceptibly ; 
fact after fact is weakened, until, finally, such doubt 
is thrown upon all that he has said, — from the evi- 
dent exaggeration of part, — that a less ingenious 
advocate than O'Connell might rescue the prisoner 
from conviction on such evidence. The main wit- 
ness having " broken down," (as much from the 
natural doubt and disgust excited in the minds of 



416 bits of blai:xi:y. 

an Irish jury, by the circumstance of a particeps 
criminis being evidence against one who may have 
been more sinned against than sinning, — who may 
have been seduced into the paths of error by the very 
man who now bears testimony against him,) the re- 
sult of the trial is not very difficult to be foreseen. 
If there is any doubt, the matter is soon n.aae clear 
by a few alibi witnesses — practiced rogues with the 
most innocent aspects, who swear anything or every 
thing to " get a friend out of trouble." The chances 
are ten to one that O'Connell brings off tlu, prisoner. 
Tf l e is not acquitted, he may, at least, be only found 
g ilty on the minor plea oi "manslaughter." 

But the chances are that he will be acquitted, for 
few juries ever resisted the influence of O : 0onnell's 
persuasive eloquence. 

Such is the scene exhibited by one glance back- 
ward :— such, five-and-twenty years ago, was con- 
stantly occurring in the Irish courts of law when 
O'Connell practiced at the bar. 

Even at the risk of being accounted tedious, I 
cannot conclude this sketch without mentioning 
another anecdote, which, even better than a length- 
ened disquisition, may show that I do not overrate 
the extraordinary ingenuity and quickness for which 
I give O'Connell ^uch ample credit. One of the 
most, remarkable personages in Cork, for a series of 
years, was a sharp-witted little fellow named John 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 417 

"Toyle,* who published a periodical called The Fret- 
holder. As Boyle did not see that any peculiar dig- 
nity hedged the corrupt Corporation of Cork, his 
Freeholder was remarkable for severe and satirical 
remarks upon its members, collectively and person- 
ally. Owing to the very great precautions as to the 
mode of publication, it was next to impossible for 
the Corporation to proceed against him for libel ; — 
if they could have done so, his punishment was cer- 
tain, for in those days there were none but " Corpo- 
ration juries," and the fact that Boyle was hostilb to 
the municipal clique, was quite enough for these 
worthy administrators of justice. It happened, on 
the occasion of a crowded benefit at the theatre, that 
Boyle and one of the Sheriffs were coming out of 
the pit at the same moment. A sudden crush drove 
the scribe against the Sheriff, and the concussion 
was so great that the latter had two of his ribs bro- 
ken. There could be no doubt that tne whole was 
accidental ; but it was too lucky not to be taken ad- 
vantage of. Mr. Boyle was prosecuted for assault 
O'Connell was retained for the defence. The trial 
came on before a Corporation jury. The evidence 
was extremely slight ; but it was an* understood 
thing that on any evidence, or no evidence, the jury 
would convict Boyle. Mr. O'Connell (who was per- 
sonally inimical to the Corporation) scarcely cross- 
examined a witness and called none in defence. 

* Boyle died at Limerick, in " 833, of cholera. 

18* 



418 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

He proceeded to reply. After some hyperbolical 
compliments on the " well-known impartiality, in- 
dependence, and justice of a Cork jury," he proceed- 
ed to address them thus : — "I had no notion that 
the case is what it is ; therefore I call no witnesses. 
Asl have received a brief, and its accompaniment — 
a fee — I must address you. I am not in the vein for 
making a speech, so, gentlemen, I shall tell you a 
story. Some years ago I went, specially, to Clon- 
mel assizes, and accidentally witnessed a trial which 
I never shall forget. A wretched man, a native of 
the county of Tipper ary, was charged with the mur- 
der of his neighbour. It seemed that an ancient 
feud existed between them. They had met at a fair 
and exchanged blows : again, that evening, they met 
at a low pot-house, and the bodily interference of 
friends alone prevented a fight between them. The 
prisoner was heard to vow vengeance against his 
rival. The wretched victim left the house, followed 
soon after by the prisoner, and was found next day 
on the roadside — murdered, and his face so barbar- 
ously beaten in by a stone, that he could only be 
identified by his dress. The facts were strong against 
the prisoner — in fact it was the strongest case of cir- 
cumstantial evidence I ever met with. As a matter 
of form — for of his guilt there could be no doubt — 
the prisoner was called on for his defence. He called, 
to the surprise of every one, — the murdered man. 
And the murdered man came forward. It seemed 



419 

that another man had been murdered, — t at the 
identification by dress was vague, for all the peasant- 
ry of Tipperary wear the same description of clothes, 
— ihat the presumed victim had got a hint that he 
would be arrested under the Whiteboy Act, — had 
fled, — and only returned, with a noble and Irish 
feeling of justice, when he found that his ancient 
foe was in jeopardy on his account. The case was 
clear : the prisoner was innocent. The judge told 
the jury that it was unnecessary to charge them. 
But they requested permission to retire. They re- 
turned in about two hours, when the foreman, with 
a long face, handed in the verdict ' Guilty.' Every 
one was astonished. ' Good God !' said the judge, 
'of what is he guilty? Not of murder, surely?' — 
1 No, my lord,' said the foreman; ' but, if he did not 
murder that man, sure he stole my gray mare three 
years ago/ 1 "* 

The Cork jurors laughed heartily at this anecdote, 
but, ere their mirth had time to cool, O'Connell con- 
tinued, with marked emphasis, " So, gentlemen of 
the jury, though Mr. Boyle did not wilfully assault the 
Sheriff, he has libelled the Corporation, — find him 
guilty, by all means /" The application was so se- 
vere, that the jury, shamed into justice, instantly 
acquitted Mr. Boyle. 

It is time to hurry this sketch to a conclusion. 

* Mr. Love has " conveyed" this incident into his romance of 
" Rory O'More." 



420 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

Yet a few words about the man. In person, Mr. 
O'Connell was well made, muscular, and tall. He 
looked the man to be the leader of a people. He 
was fond of field sports, and while at Derrynane 
Abbey, for four months in the year, lived like a 
country gentleman, surrounded by his numerous rel- 
atives, and exercising the wonted hospitality of Ire- 
land. His features were strongly marked — the 
mouth bjing much more expressive than the eyes. 
His voice was deep, sonorous, and somewhat touched 
with the true Kerry patois. 

He was seen to much advantage in the bosom of 
his family, to whom he was greatly attached, a feeling 
which was reciprocated with veneration as well as 
love. His conversation was delightful, embracing a 
vast range of subjects. He was a great reader — and, 
even in the most busy and exciting periods of his 
political life, found (or made) time to peruse the pe- 
riodicals and novels of the day. 

He was well acquainted with modern poetry, and 
was fond of repeating long passages from Byron, 
Moore, Scott, Crabbe, Tennyson, and others. He 
was a good classical scholar, though I have heard 
him say ohat he doubted whether, after the age of 
twenty- one, he had ever opened a Latin or Greek 
book from choice. French he spoke and wrote ex- 
tremely well. Many of his classical hits, in Court, 
were good — but few are remembered. I shall give 
one as a sample. In a political trial he charged 



DANIFT, o'CONNELL. 421 

Saurin, the Attorney-General, with some official un- 
fairness, and Burke, his colleague, chivalrously as- 
sumed the responsibility. " If there is blame in it," 
said Burke, " I alone must bear it. 

' Me, me, adsum qui feci, in me convertite ferrum.' " 
"Finish the sentence, Mr. Solicitor," said O'Con- 

nell; "add 

' Mea fraus omnis.' " 

When at home, he lived in the good old Irish 
style. He kept a well-spread table, and was idolized 
by the peasantry. His residence, Derrynane Abbey, 
is built on a bold situation, next the Atlantic, and 
commands a view of the Skelligs. The "Abbey," 
as it is called, is a comparatively modern edifice, 
which has received various additions from successive 
residents. It is irregularly built; so much so, in- 
deed, as to be any thing but a model of architecture. 
It is convenient, and, in the wilds of Kerry, that 
should suffice ; for who expects a Grecian dome in 
such a place ? The real Derrynane Abbey (or rather 
its ruins) stands on a little island in the Atlantic. 

There is little statute-law about Derrynane, and 
nearly all the disputes in the neighbourhood were al- 
lowed to rest until O'Connell could decide on them. 
He used to sit, like a patriarch, upon a huge rock, 
in view and hearing of the tumultuous throbbing of 
the Atlantic, and there give judgment, against which 
no one presumed to appeal. Already that rugged 
seat is called " O'Connell's Chair." 



422 BtTS OF BLARNEY. 

On the loth day of May, 1847, having nearly 
completed- his seventy-second year, Daniel O'Connell 
departed this life. He had quitted the land of his 
birth to seek for renewal of health beneath more 
clement skies # so, before him, had Sir Walter Scott. 
But the great novelist was happier than the illus- 
trious orator ; and died, at least, in his own country, 
and in his own house. From the first, it seems that 
O'Connjll entertained no hope of completing his 
pilgrimage. He feared, and I think he felt, that he 
was not destined to reach Rome, the Eternal City. 

The account of his last days, as given, at the time, 
by Galignaiii's Messenger (the English journal pub- 
lished in Paris), is full of deep interest. It is 
from the pen of Dr. Duff, the English physician 
who attended him at Genoa. This gentleman first 
saw him on the 10th May — just five days before he 
died. On the first visit, he found that the patient 
had chronic bronchitis, of some years' standing. 
The next day it was found that congestion of the 
brain had commenced. On the 12th, the illness in- 
creased ; for the patient, like Byron, had almost an 
insuperable objection to take medicine. Then, for 
the first time, the mind began to waver. On the 
13th he became worse, slept heavily during the 
night, breathed with difficulty, fancied himself among 
his friends in London, and spoke as if among them. 
On the 14th the words fell, half-formed, from his 
lips. Thus he lingered until the next night, unable 



DANIEL O'CONNELL. 423 

to move or speak, but conscious of the presence oi 
those around him. At half-past nine on that night 
he died. Had he taken nourishment and medicine, 
he might have lived a few days longer. But not all 
of him is dead — his memory remains, and Avill long 
be kept green in the hearts of his countrymen. 

Had O'Connell lived until the 6th of August, lie 
would have completed his seventy -second year. He 
enjoyed excellent health through the greater part of 
his life, and had every chance of living to extended 
old age. His family are proverbially long-lived ; 
his uncle Maurice, from whom he inherited Derry- 
nane Abbey, was 97 when he died; and O'Con- 
nell repeatedly said that he intended to live quite 
as long, if lie could, nor was it unlikely that he 
also might approach the patriarchal age of one 
hundred years. 

His last words to his physician conveyed a request 
that, as he was sure he would present the appear- 
ance of death before he actually breathed his last, 
they would not suffer the grave to be closed too 
promptly over his remains. His strong hope was 
to die in Rome, his last moments soothed and sanc- 
tified by the blessing of Pope Pius IX. He repeat- 
edly expressed a desire that his heart should rest 
(as it does) in one of the Churches of the Eternai 
City. This wish was suggested, it has been said, by 
the recollection that Robert Bruce had desired his 
heart to be conveyed to the Holy Land and deposited 



424 BITS OV BLARNEY. 

in the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. He died with- 
out pain, gently as an infant sinks into repose, calm- 
ed by the consolations of religion ; and, it seemed 
to Lis attendants, not only content to quit mortality, 
but even anxious to be released. His body was 
embalmed, and is deposited in the Cemetery of Glas- 
nevin near Dublin. 

As to the ability, the mental resources, the vast 
power of O'Connell, there can be no dispute. Un- 
questionably he was the greatest ' Irishman of his 
time. In estimating the conduct and character of 
public men, two things, it appears to me, should be 
considered : the value of their labours and their mo- 
tive. O'Oonnell, on starting into life, found that his 
religion debarred him from many privileges and ad- 
vantages enjoyed by persons of another creed, and 
he applied himself, earnestly, to remove these dis- 
abilities. He succeeded, and in the long and perse- 
vering struggle which he headed, acquired vast 
influence, and a popularity which helped, with the aid 
of his own legal knowledge and skill, to place him 
in the foremost rank of his profession. At the age 
of fifty -four — in spite of the saying that an oak of 
the forest rarely bears transplanting — he entered the 
British Parliament, where he soon took a prominent 
position. Thenceforth his constant aim was to coax 
or frighten the Government into the concessions 
which were included in the demand for "Justice for 



425 

Ireland." The threat of Kepeal was used for this 
purpose. 

The question whether he really desired to carry 
Kepeal is difficult to be answered. That Ireland 
should have laws made for herself, by her own 
legislature, may or may not have been a desire with 
O'Connell. But that, when agitating for the Repeal 
of the parchment union between Ireland and Great 
Britain, he had the remotest intention or wish to ef- 
fect the separation of the two countries, no thought- 
ful observer can imagine. Separation, in O'Con- 
nell's eyes, meant a Republic, and O'Connell was 
essentially a Monarchist. He had an antipathy, 
also, to the exercise of physical force to procure the 
restitution of a people's rights. In all probability, 
had he lived during the struggle of the American 
colonies, O'Connell would have sided with those who 
condemned the Americans as " rebels to their King." 
Truth to say, he was rather an ultra-loyalist. This 
appeared, in 1821, when, kneeling on the shore, at 
Dunleary, he presented a crown of laurel to George 
IV., — in 1832, when he glorified William IY. as the 
11 patriot King" — in 1837, when he appealed (at the 
elections^ in favor of Victoria as " a Virgin-Queen," 
forgetful that this distinctive epithet, belonging to 
all unmarried girls of eighteen, would be forfeited, 
of course, when she became a wife ! 

It may be conceded, however, that though O'Con- 
nell would have shrunk from seeing Ireland actually 



426 BITS OF BLARNEY. 

separated from England, lie was sincere in his exer- 
tions to obtain Emancipation, and, subsequently, tc 
wrest other rights and privileges from successive ad- 
ministrations. "Ireland for the Irish" was his 
favourite cry ; but it meant little when uttered by a 
man who feverishly feared all real agitation, tending 
to assert and secure the actual independence of the 
country. With him, " Repeal," if it meant any thing, 
meant continuance under the rule of the British 
Sovereign. "Repeal " was a capital party cry, but 
he dreaded it when it was taken up by men not less 
patriotic, though a little less "loyal " than himself, 
who thought that boldness, courage, union, and 
talent could raise Ireland from a provincial obscurity 
into a national independence. 

Great good was undoubtedly performed by O'Con- 
nell. His course was often eccentric, capricious, in- 
explicable. His abilities were great. He made much 
of opportunities. He wielded all but sovereign powei 
over his countrymen for years. He naturally be 
came impatient of contradiction, and very impracti 
cable. But, with all his faults, O'Connell was essen 
tially a great man. 



THE END. 



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